The Denver Boot Redux

I’m no longer the newborn, lord that’s all I know as true, I’ve returned from
the ocean, craddlin' the Denver Boot
Bare feet walk the hills of Frisco, soft boys cut their eyes to me
The truth is I let my down my Father, I throw my boots back in the water,
they are hollow, they are hollow
At the dear goat farm outside Denver, Father was living in his broken down coupe
The helling held him in a bad way, his body revenged as he asked for the truth
I cradled my Father in my arms, with my nails I scraped the sick away,
I put my nail clips in a bottle, a trophy on the dash… but when the sun
shine through the bottle it is hollow, it is hollow
I can’t wear the Denver boot
I will bronze my Father’s body
Mount it outside my factories
The first will be a see-through glassworks
The other will be a true goat farm
I will blow perfect bottles
I will squeeze the goats myself
I will drown the world of it’s helling
I hope my will don’t come up hollow…
Hollow…