Old Friend - Future Islands

I whisper the tongue like an old friend

I cherish my time here alone

I wait in the eyes of the passing nights,

To help me laugh brushfires again

By the swallows sleeve, i’m a new hand

Cutting out the shapes that burn me I can touch the mouths of these child gods

And these true minds that hurt man

And the will will go up To the crashing sails

And the crushing wails

Of my old pan

This wind screams while i’m asleep

And dreams that these white eyes

Will smile again

And the will will go up To the crashing sails

And the crushing wails

Of my old pan

This wind screams while i’m asleep

And dreams that these white eyes

Will smile again

I take to the road like an old man

I cherish my time here alone

I process the lines of the passing lights

Losing myself, i change my plans

By the western walls, i’m a cursed hand

By the eastern seas, i’m hardly wrong

I can swing myself down from these trees

When i crave a glimpse of weary sands

I whisper the tongue like an old friend

I cherish my time here alone

I swing myself down from these trees

To help me laugh brushfires again