November

No shadows, no stars

There's no moon and no cars

November

It only believes in a pile of dead leaves

And a moon that's the color of bone

No prayers for November to linger longer

Stick your spoon in the wall

And we'll slaughter them all

November has tied me to an old dead tree

Get word to April to rescue me

November's cold chain made of wet boots and rain

And shiny black ravens on chimney smoke lanes

November seems odd, you're my firing squad

November

With my hair slicked back with carrion shellac

And the blood from a pheasant and the bone from a hare

Tied to the branches of a roebuck stag

Left to wave in the timber like a buckshot flag

Go away, you rainsnout

Go away, blow your brains out

November