Sycamore (7_26_2025)

Wickedjohnandthedevil

Bait on the hook
A curse on the town
We laugh like coyotes
And cry just like clowns
It scrubs off of our fingers
A little elbow grease and there it goes

Bones in the garden
Pitchfork in the hay
Mice in the cupboard
It’s written all over your face
I can’t hold you forever
I couldn’t hold you together if I tried

But bind it with leather
Write this one down
Bend like the branches
Sway like the old sycamore