Mountain Goats, The. Calcutta. Zeneszám

Wild donkeys kicking, braying in the meadow

made you want to kick and bray yourself at least you said so

you were wild eyed, your lips were flecked with foam

till warm calcutta called you home

twin rivers flowing brought a flush into your cheeks

at the spot where the trickling stream's rivers meet

the wind from off the snowcapped mountains cooled you down

till warm calcutta brought you back around

i could hear the prophets yelling in the streets

now your eyes were pure poison, but your skin was sweet