The Bunkhouse

Put the chair against the handle
In the window light a candle
When you're smoking up
The chimney slowly
The wind it blew the slates off
Your prayers float through the foxglove
Grip the iron bed post quickly
We watched them carry the coffin
From the house down to the river
They recited
"Come away from the well"
At the gathering the whole room it fell silent
It heckled and grew violent
I stood at your back
Deep breath, haystack
You're a business man
Wrapped in a caftan
It's all you'll ever be
Go count your money
I'm a painter, you're a framer
Wear a warm coat
It gets cold out there
Out at the bunkhouse
Prayers float through the foxglove
Prayers float through the foxglove