Francophile from Spirit House by Future Lives

You were running like a Francophile,
No attention to the coats that you wear.
You were turning like a turnstyle,
No convictions at the Mar-a-Lago Fair.
You were lying on your face, I can read the dystopian hair,
But you’re keeping all your secrets, to an hour when it’s too late to care.

You knit your teeth, and gnash your wheat,
In The Season of the Bear.

You could only trace your patronage to Solomon,
And faux savoir faire,
How the things that pass for knowledge, now you understand,
Is a programmed affair.
From the side of her face,
Came a lie that would taste of despair.
But she didn’t know the answer,
‘Til the tables turned the clocks back a year.

Now you grit your teeth, and gnash your meat,
It’s The Season of the Bear.

You’re a dedicated follower of the fashioning,
Of high-powered fears,
Take up arms against an arsenal,
That is hostile to the formative years.
You delusional dolt, they can lie, they float in the air.
But you didn’t know what time it was,
Til the Flava turned the clock back a year.

You kill your wheat and gnash your teeth,
It’s The Season of the Bear.
Now you grit your teeth and stash your meat,
It’s The Season of the Bear.
You can split the trees or plant the spies,
The season never cares
It’s a two-bit thief’s dumb masterpiece,
The Season of the Bear.

• Americana
• Folk
• Pre-punk
• Twangy chamber pop
• anti-folk
• dad-rock
• Athens