If I was a crow, I'd fly the rows that wind between these places
Over back lanes and weathered veins where creeks have left their traces
Fruit trees planted long ago still bloom every other season
The fence won't keep the rabbits out
The gates always open for some damn reason
We'll follow and trace the coastline to a place that's worn and stored
At the end of their chain, the great lakes drain into the old St. Lawrence
Ah, we've held on to the old St. Lawrence

We've had a party or two, slept a million dreamers
Who woke to find the coffee on
Though the smoke is gone, the poetry lingers
If you're too tucked away, and you can't see the sun
If you've something to say, but you ain't got no one
Whatever you do, if you have no one
Whatever you do, if you have no one
Or use your thumb, just get here, just come
If you come out at night, you'll see the light
And where to make the turnoff
But do call ahead, we might be in bed
Or riding with our clothes off
Writing on the wallpaper
Writing on the wallpaper
Though poets die, a lullaby still whispers faintly in the room
If you're too tucked away and you can't see the sun
If you're something to sing but you ain't got no one
Whatever you do, if you have to, or use your thumb, just get here, just come
If you're too tucked away and you can't see the sun
If you're something to sing but you ain't got no one
If you're something to sing but you ain't got no one

If your hands are getting cold, you don't know what you've become
If I was a crow, I'd fly the rose, there'd wind between these places
Where poems were read and hungers fed and hearts were warm and gracious
Did we keep a guestbook somewhere?
Or are the rest of us gone?
We'll make a vow to start one now
There is still time, but it's not waiting