No Complaints from Grief & Praise by The Whiskey Priest

I’m a farmer, I’m a farmer of fire
I burn the bridges, I burn the ships every night
So I can’t run away but I can’t face you and fight
It gets harder, it gets harder each time

I bite my lip real hard for ya babe
Got my dark shades on for ya babe
I dip my fingers in your cup
I anoint my forehead with your blood
But you’ve already passed by
(It gets harder each time)

Look I know you’ve had your feet and your hands bound back
I know you had to escape in the night, had to cover your tracks
I know your fear is a big black cloud, and it’s loud, and its rounding up yesterday’s rain
Oh Marie I would wrap you in my love if it didn’t rattle like chains

So we went round, unlocked every door
Neon signs, and arrows on the floor
I swallowed rocks to fill my throat
If I can’t cry then maybe I won’t rock the boat
(I just hope it still floats)

In the morning light he’s been watching you sleep
He’s been floating prayers up to gods that he don’t believe
He says “Jesus I’m warning you - no, sorry, I’m begging you please
Toss me to the waves again and again, just give my baby some peace

And I will place my hands upon your wounds
I will pay my rent down in your tomb
You can drive your spear through me like a train
Fix me to the rock - I swear I won’t complain!
No, no complaints (just say she’ll remember my name)

Set me on that hill so I can look out at the sky
At the setting sun as my baby takes flight
I watch her soar till they’re both outta sight
It gets harder - no, I mean easier, it gets easier each time…”

• Americana
• Folk
• Indie Folk
• Austin