Brian Borcherdt Furnaces
Is it in my bones? Well, I don’t know.
Left out in the woods, beneath the snow.
Wait until the Spring, we’ll dig ‘em out.
They will be burned. Fuel for their furnaces.
Was it in my blood? Well, I don’t know.
There once was a trail that lead back home.
New Year’s Eve will come and it will go.
I was drowning it all out with my headphones.
We will be burned. Fuel for their furnaces.
I don’t need your bones.
I fossilize my own.
So they can warm their hands,
and can heat their homes.
