The Angry River (f. Father John Misty & S.I. Istwa)

the emptiness that we confess
in the dimmest hour of day
in [bad word] town, they make a sound
like the low sad moan of prey
the bitter taste, the hidden face
of the lost forgotten child
the darkest need
the slowest speed
the pattern reconciled

these photographs mean nothing
to the poison that they take
before a moments glory
the light begins to fade

the outward cost
of all we've lost
as we looked the other way
we've paid the price for this [bad word] device
till we have nothing left to pay
the river goes where the current flows
the lightning must destroy
events conspire to set a fire
with the methods we employ
these dead men walk on water
a cold [bad word] through their veins
the angry river rises
as we step into the rain

these photographs mean nothing
to the poison that they take
the angry river rises