I have (again) become obsessed with these lyrics.

“I clawed at your skirt like it was a dirt floor And I could dig my way free of myself taking more But prisoners know nothing of victory at war Let’s call it a truce for now

Georgia looks covered in blood from the air Where the clay and the river fight and run as a pair And women comb brambles and stones from their hair Let’s call it a truce for now

True revelation is a thug and it comes With narrow grey eyes, not the rolling of drums And it may take your hands but it’s seeking your thumbs Let’s call it a truce for now

We’ll call it a truce for now”

Ouch. Damn.