White's Ferry - Clutch

Only the dirt I do believe

As memory vanishes among the leaves

Wizard of tickets is always glad to charge a pilgrim’s fare

Jubilee’s generally early.

Let’s take the country air

Mistreating granite, limestone, and clay.

It’s a shameful soil

But all grows well on the floodplain tract if you can afford the toil

Cradled in ivy, we will allow

The moss to prosper upon our brows

Boxer rebellion, the Holy Child.

They all pay their rent

But none together can testify to rhythm of a road well bent

Saddles and zip codes, passports and gates, the Jones' keep

In August the water is trickling, in April it’s furious deep

Wizard of tickets is always glad to charge a pilgrim’s fare

Jubilee’s generally early.

Let’s take the country air

Mistreating granite, limestone, and clay.

It’s a shameful soil

But all grows well on the floodplain tract if you can afford the toil

Only the dirt I do believe

Divinity vanishes among the leaves