Rags And Bones - Thea Gilmore

Through the iron winter to the fires of June

Through the five o’clock skyline to the deadlocked moon

There’s a flickering figure dancing alone

Making her junk pictures out of rags and bones

Where the vapour is rising between the seedling and the vine

And though the shadows in waiting are wasting their time

‘Cause my veins are tracking street maps and the compass and the stones

And I’m still making my junk pictures out of rags and bones

Oh yeah, the hammer and the nail

Oh yeah, the heart’s in the small change

Oh yeah, and the Devil’s in the detail

And in my rags and bones

Now it’s the fist through the window, it’s the wine that you brought

It’s a far cry from the shackles of cognitive thought

It’s the lines on the fridge door, just see how they’ve grown

Up from little junk pictures made from rags and bones

Oh yeah, the hammer and the nail

Oh yeah, the heart’s in the small change

Oh yeah, and the Devil’s in the detail

And in the rags and bones

And now the candle’s flickered out, the walls have been built

And they are racking up the weapons of blood and piss and guilt

Voices have been silenced, but they belong to anyone

And these little junk pictures made from rags and bones

And these little junk pictures made from rags and bones

Rags and bones