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Futility Has Its Limits
they tore down the bridge
when the river tired of flowing
and now we never even cross
 
you're dreaming of a place
where heartlessness is paid for
by oases filled with loss
 
the sentences don't parse
but noone makes you speak
the stars aren't secret history
we could read if we were free
 
none of this would matter
if we weren't always finding ways to
throw our hearts over railings
instead of kissing in the dark
 
they should have never built the bridge
the water would have talked to us
and now we never even cross
 
but none of this would matter
if we weren't sorcerors of not good enough
and economists of frailties
and sentinels of
a ghost train is sighing the song of not dying
and how the logic of your terror will tear itself apart
and the way we discover the paths that don't end here
is to tear up these maps we bought and step onto this air
this maps shows a bridge
and somehow all we can do is stand here
hoping something makes it right
 
but I've been reading about how it was here
before it got how we remember
and nobody ever drowns
 
and the hearts we imagine are better for dreaming
and the air we won't walk on is only what's left of
a ghost train is sighing the song of not dying
and how the logic of your terror will tear itself apart
and the way we discover the paths that don't end here
is to tear up these maps we bought and step onto this air
because I once saw you dance there
where we never needed bridges
and when the water hits I know again
that futility has its limits
 
 
[Constituted with DM1 and GarageBand in the air between Boston and Austin. Sung in a break between events at SXSW, with somebody else's show happening in the atrium outisde the hotel-room door.]
 
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