And so I left when I was just a boy
I swore I'd simply do it all over again
And now up the hill with snow-bit
Blue-tipped fingers, blood from falling
But I can't go back there no more

In frozen poses, venues lined with pillows
Atlas shouldered some silly blunder or other
You ask for more than this
But I don't know what more than this is

Is it a motel
With a fashion magazine
In between towns?
I was thinking about my mother
And I wished ill upon myself

Rachel don't come around here no more
I hear she's living in Montana
With her brother. I wish her the best
And I hope she can forget me

But the ghost that comes around
Is a dead-ringer for her
I see her in my nightmares
Discussing modern literature
With her hands around my neck

In a motel
With a fashion magazine
In between towns
I was thinking about my mother
And I wished ill upon myself