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Cold-Blooded Old Times

Bill Callahan


Cold-blooded old times
The type of memories
That turns your bones to glass
Turns your bones to glass

Mother came rushing in
She said we didn't see a thing
We said we didn't see a thing
And father left at eight
Nearly splintering the gate

Cold-blooded old times
The type of memory
That turns your bones to glass
Turns your bones to glass

And though you where
Just a little swirl
You understood every word
And in this way they gave you clarity
A cold-blooded clarity

Cold-blooded old times

Now how can I stand
And laugh with the man
Who redefined your body

Those cold-blooded old times

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