5.Wooden Leg
This arc sun burns
His back brown
High road heat
Outside this town
This arc sun burns
Flecked with dew
As he stoops and opens the traps
He looks up into
His darkened room
Long live the weeds
Pitted hoof tracks
Long live the weeds
His darkened room
His box of birds
Weighs him down
As he walks
Far from this town
His box of birds
Shrills and flutes
As he climbs
The straw withered slopes
He looks up into
The harvest moon
Long live the weeds
Brushing his wooden leg
Long live the weeds
This harvest moon
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