Mountain Goats - Sax Rohmer #1

Fog lifts from the harbor, dawn goes down today
a agent crests the shadows of a nearby alleyway.
Piles of broken bricks, signposts on the path
Every moment points toward the aftermath
Yeahaha

Sailors straggle back from their nights out on the town;
hopeless urchins from the city gather round
Spies from imperial China wash in with the tide;
Every battle heads toward surrender on both sides

And I am coming home to you
with my own blood in my mouth
And I am coming home to you
if it’s the last thing that I do.

Bells ring in the tower, wolves howl in the hills,
chalk marks show up on a few high windowsills.
And a rabbit gives up somewhere, and a dozen hawks descend
— every moment leads toward its own sad end
Yeahahah

Ships loosed from their moorings capsize and then are gone;
sailors with no captains watch awhile and then move on.
And an agent crests the shadows and I head in her direction;
all roads lead toward the same blocked intersection.

I am coming home to you!
with my own blood in my mouth!
And I am coming home to you!
if it’s the last thing that I do!