Hell On the Throat

A line of strands to mark the trail. No one said it would be easy. I must admit, I thought that risk was better waged in younger seasons. Years in the cold, burn in my throat. Everything I say burns like cinders. But it's hard to belong to a girl or a song, In the crease of a strangling winter. Strange to be lost Stranger still to be lone in the strings of a twisting line. Along the way the turns are sharp No one said they would be easy I must admit I thought the trip was better in younger seasons. But all these years in the pursuit made a man of a fool Till every word I say is on waver. Why it's hard to belong to a girl Or a song in the case of a selfish believer It's strange to be lost and stranger Still to be lone in the strings in a twisting line It's strange to be lost and stranger Still to be lone in the strings in a twisting line And when the path I have made from the grass to the grave I will love you still And when the sand turns to glass and all That's left is the past and I will love you still.