Uploaded December 2008 | Updated September 2026, 1 hour ago

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27th June 2007
live at the Orange Peel, Asheville
residency

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Mama
You're on my mind
A stitch upon my coat, and
A play on the words grand design

I think you know
I think you're sure that you know, but
Butterflies don't get old
And I don't get so young anymore
What a crime

I'm big ideas and lost ideals
It's a show
I must appear
In control

Mama

Mama
They're showing off
They're burning books outside
Of what it was that you said

And to the walls
We'll let the spirit gather up
And set us as a flame
Year to year, there's no one here but us
What a mask
Our ears to the ground
And our fingers on the pulse of the page
Oh, what's worse than change

What do they want with us

Oh, mama, mama
What is it that they want with us
And all of our abuse of the truth
What's the use to protest

Mama
There's only you
You're a dance upon the mirrors of
Lighting with restraint

This quiet word
I got my faith restored
By the sway of the trees
That sway in time to one last rhyme of my curse
For what it's worth

I count you out
And still you count me in
To answer your final bell

Mama, mama
Well, why do they care about us
Mama, mama
They knock and knock, but I don't answer the door
Mama, mama
Because I'm bored and we're not alone