Hungry Hands in The American Scene

You're calm and cutting.
I'm speaking softly in your passenger seat,
On the finger points of deceiving, withholding, and the difference between.
You crack a window, clear the air, meet quiet words with empty stares.
I ask a God I don't know to get us home before this car explodes
We smoked and burned black

Dripped like wax from the devil's hands
That pooled into something I'm told resembled dishonesty.
And with each word I stacked on top of the last
I could feel you pulling so slow and so steady away from me
Don't put me away with your crossed out days
And filled up spiral notebooks

Carefully placed on shelves in case
You should care to take a new look
Your hungry hands held a home over my head
Ripped at my clothes, pushed into bed
We made so many ways to help ourselves forget
We smoked and burned black

Dripped like wax from the devil's hands that pooled
Into something I'm told resembled dishonesty
And with each word I stacked on top of the last
I could feel you pulling so slow and so steady away from me
Don't be so sure that I'm overlooking details
Don't be so sure I've got nothing left to say