The Weather Station - Black Flies

Humid wood, you felt good
And you shook your tangled hair down
With the sweat in your eyes
And all the black flies
Under lidded skies
You lie down there in the grasses
On the clifftop you remember
Salt stinging in your lashes
Straight line of horizon
And the ocean painful wide
Every time you come back here
You feel nothing, and then you
Cry out all the strangeness
You have carried all year
Every crooked word spoken
Still ringing in your ears
Like the whine of mosquitoes
Oh, who are you alone?
With your cheek against the stone
What do you think you know?

Under lidded skies
Under the rising clouds of black flies
Under tangled branches way up
High glinting in the last light
You left, you got into the car
Sink down into the fabric
And you close the heavy metal door
With your hands upon the plastic
And drive on into the cold
So calm, like it doesn't matter
Like slipping into a pond
All the little waves roll and scatter