When the showing up ends, 
going back to the south, 
where hungry necks that I know,
and runnin' a blender in a 
lightning storm, disguised as a blessing I'm sure.
Knowing up here, there comes a fork in the road,
pants have gotta go, we're on an island on the fourth of July, 
looks like the tide is going home.
In time I'd find a little way to your heart,
down to the general store for nothing specific,
gonna wash my bones in the Atlantic shore - only for you and me.

Band Of Horses tommorow with Kels! I can't fucking wait.