A Song for Ernest Hemingway - The Wonder Years

The sky goes from concrete to charcoal.

I’m laying on my back on the roof.

I’m gonna shoot these clouds full of holes.

I need some fucking light to pour through

Because December’s got me up against the ropes.

And I don’t know how to get loose.

I can’t get feeling back in my toes.

I’m walking in circles with you

Like we’re lost Canadian geese.

I should be south of here already.

I’ll be your dead bird.

You’ll be my bloodhound.

You’re just doing what you’re told;

Pick my body off the ground.

I’ll be your dead bird.

I’m staring at Hemingway’s shotgun.

I picture him drinking alone.

He’s forgetting things that he wouldn’t have before.

His eyesight’s starting to go.

And I heard all about how his plane went down after Christmas in the Congo.

He read about his own death in the paper.

I bet it was freeing to know.

When you destroy anything worth chasing,

There’s nowhere left to go.

I’ll be your dead bird.

You’ll be my bloodhound.

You’re just doing what you’re told;

Pick my body off the ground.

I’ll be your dead bird.

Hanging from your mouth.

You’re doing what you’re told;

Gonna make your master proud.

It’s good to know

I didn’t die for nothing.

December’s got me backed into a corner again.

My ears are back.

My teeth are showing.

I’m combing through the wreckage trying to find where I’ve been.

I still get phantom pains,

But from a safer distance.

I’ll be your dead bird.

You’ll be my bloodhound.

You’re just doing what you’re told;

Pick my body off the ground.

I’ll be your dead bird.

Hanging from your mouth.

You’re doing like you’re told;

Gonna make your master proud.

It’s good to know

I didn’t die for nothing.

December’s got me backed into a corner again.

My ears are back.

(I didn’t die for nothing.)

My teeth are showing.

I’m combing through the wreckage trying to find where I’ve been.

I still get phantom pains,

I didn’t die for nothing.