The Rip Post                                                                                              

The Hardest Hours
Don't be digging your hole so fast.
Don't be cashing in.
The Hardest Hours are coming,
but they're just made up of skin and bones, like we
supposedly are.
Somebody left a cup of Grace
around and I think we could all use a drink.
No maitre'd is going to seat us, baby,
and the blood keeps on finding a way to rise.
Don't be shooting yourself in the foot so easily.
I'm gonna need you to help me make the run,.
The Hardest Hours are sneaking up quietly
and they think we're going to turn the other cheek.
I got a bag full of others, cheeks notwithstanding.
Come on then, the Hardest Hours claim they know
where you live, who you are, and what you feel.
I know the Hardest Hours lie so very convincingly.
The special number you call when Pain gets too much
that special number just imploded.
Tell me your river's destination.
Tell me your heart's snail mail address.
I'll send you some photos
that are being taken of us right now
as we stand here in this cold afternoon
waiting for our Hardest Hours
to land and call us old friend.

---Scott Wannberg


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