Three Months / Three Years

from by The Hollows

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lyrics

Ain't gonna sleep for ninety days
Gonna shiver and shake in my sheets
We said our goodbyes with a pair of tombstone eyes
Cast in the color of unfamiliar streets

And I ain't gonna breathe for ninety days
Lord, I'm sure I'll turn blue
But the wind makes a choice, it imitates the sweetest voice
And it breaks your heart in two

Oh darlin', sweet lover, if your lips are parched
Please do not quench them with your tears
For I'll return with lips that burn
When three months becomes three years

And I ain't gonna dance for ninety days
Can't do it without my blue light
And though the river may call, it's just a river, that�s all
I'll just retire into the night

And I ain't gonna drink for ninety days
Poor boy can't fill his canteen
But I'll wear a disguise, even I can tell lies
But where am I supposed to lean?

Oh darlin', sweet lover, if your lips are parched
Please do not quench them with your tears
For I'll return with lips that burn
When three months becomes three years

To some it's not long, but I've written this song
There's a reason the ink is still wet
We're still in the flood like we're bounded by blood
And I'm forever in your debt

And I ain't gonna be the same for ninety days
Hope my heart can bear the load
But I made you a bed, so rest your weary head
And look for me on some dreamy road

And I ain't gonna be the same for ninety days
I need my brothers and my sisters so sweet
And to each and every friend, I'll see you soon around the bend
And to you I can only repeat

Oh darlin', sweet lover, if your lips are parched
Please do not quench them with your tears
For I'll return with lips that burn
When three months becomes three years

credits

from Belong to the Land, released August 9, 2011
Jeff - bass guitar
Dan - banjo, lead vocal
Rob - mandolin, vocals
Dave - tack piano, vocals
Erik - acoustic guitar, harmonica, vocals
&
Graham Galatro - addt'l percussion
Tim Heck - washboard, shakers, tambourine

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about

The Hollows Brooklyn, New York

A contradictory, harmonic melting pot that takes all its roots, twists them around, and produces something else; something new. With no frontman (or six frontmen), the result is a veritable junkyard of instruments and musical personalities, a carnival on wheels, a one-man band in six bodies that owns the stage with all the mobile, rhythmic ease of a seasoned railroad gang. ... more

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