Three Fingers In - Nathaniel Rateliff

Well it would take a mountain of men to move me

And that’d be a long way from the way that you spoke

In your head so clearly without break or breath

Or words redefining

I was stuck on my pride

And the skin

And the sinking it in

And you told me

«Wipe your brow, clean me off

Give me time to figure it out.»

Some songs we could sing, and never mean it

Some songs leave a ring

And you hate the few who were bold

Some burn up the sleeve

And drive too far to remember

Well I wasn’t lost, I was here

I was three fingers in

I was the junkyard, and the bumper

For the few feeling left

I was the cold nail, and the ice

On the sheets of the trenched and the soaking wet

Well it’d be the bit and the reins

That broke all the teeth in the mouth

And it’d be the whip, on the foreskin

For the few that had some left

To spare

Some songs we could sing, and never mean it

Some songs leave a ring

And you hate the few who were bold

Some burn up the sleeve

And drive too far to remember