Night Owls -

On this little cold parcel of land

Where our father’s fathers lived

The same old trees scraping innocently

Since our grandparents were kids

You were born in a terrible storm

And your Ma said «It's a sign.»

You’re never at peace with your bed facing east

And your itchy feet like mine

We should change our names and go for guts and glory

Never cut our hair, or give a care for right

'Cause they’ve got us by the throat, they’ve got us on a tight rope

You can tell your furious father

He can have my guts for garters if he likes

Some need, like the trunk of a tree, to accumulate alone

And in time grow ripe on the vine

And I think we might be those

On this cold little parcel of land

Where our father’s fathers lived

We scrape our knees climbing innocent trees

Like our father’s fathers did

We should change our names and go for guts and glory

Never cut our hair, or give a care for right

Cause they’ve got us by the throat, they’ve got us on a tight rope

You can tell your furious father he can have my guts for garters if he likes

You can tell your furious father he can have my guts for garters if he likes