When your limbs are broken You prefer to set the bones yourself Your lips are tokens You're giving away My hands are folded I'll never make my father's favorite shelf The love is old + it whittles away \ˈpä-kət-ˌnīf\ You pass the clean break There's a letter somewhere being burned You're not your handshakes The stories you tell(the giants you fell) And the cliff of the coast means you get to stay young But the compasses are cold So here's to the retake Take my love + smear it out thin Break the rocks + drink it all in \ˈpä-kət-ˌnīf\ The woods go on + on Because folly is folly + then we're gone The woods go on + on Because circles make circles + then we're gone The trees go on + on Because circles make circles