Strands - Son Volt

There is a slowness on the throttle

Possibility at hand

Painted out of a corner

Brakes to bind the strands

To decide within the barstore

Overshadows feeding in the lurch

Just survived by a stone’s throw

The decision wheel’s at work

Used to be found it temporary

Sirens stir the seeds of regret

Gathered clouds are unleashing

Sounds to walk and place your bet

Squatters on high stations

The talkers that hold sway

The verbal backslide rushes out

Like grapeshot-fine spray

No anchor drops sanctuary

No earmark begins to show

No finding it uncovered

Just a wide swing tremolo

Broken-down lessons learned

Redeemed on epitaphs

Pop line folded regulars

With countance to switchback

Echo farewell to midnight

To the loneliness of the chase

To the minutes passed as red letter

To the vision fields defaced

No pangs provide the levy

Breaking out of the throes

No revelry decided

Just a wide swing tremolo

No mercy in a pokerface

Twenty year before you go

No sentence yet decided

Just a wide swing tremolo