Curtain from Burnover by Greg Freeman

Your eyes are like a curtain and the sun goes through it
And a crystalline expression questions some kind of fall from grace
Reflecting green shadows through black shutter curls

Cruciform fossils lay excavated on your memory
Like plaster-casted lovers whose kiss became the only thing
That ever really mattered to a Vesuvian world

My thoughts die out slowly on the blood swept plains where I see you every night
And to the lonely hours, it’s like burning the furniture to keep the house bright at night

The night is getting late and the horns have all been blown
And the drummer’s looking cock-eyed on his rusty metal throne
And I’m somewhere in the distance and you’re somewhere at home

And I’m waiting for the money so I buy another drink
And like a pile of dirty dishes you carry yourself to the sink
Well the lake is out there freezing but it’s doubly alone

If your heart’s not in it, then your hearts not in it, then my hearts not in it
If your heart can’t take it, then my heart can’t take it, then my heart can’t take it
If your heart can’t take it, then your heart can’t take it, then your heart can’t take it

My thoughts die out slowly on the wind-swept panes where I see you every night
And to the lonely hours, it’s like burning the furniture to keep the house bright at night.

• Rock
• alt-country
• folk rock
• indie
• indie rock
• pop
• singer-songwriter
• Burlington