April, in her stable Fooling with her frozen salt block Takes him, if she's able From the house down to the dock The water, oh the water Ebbs and flows with his breath His silence doesn't falter Like a grave or an empty bed The house was on fire And through tears watched the son As he loaded his weapon Preparing to run Handmade guns Father holds his hands out to the sun Razor tongues Words of lightning finally come Robbed by the hands of his only son Careening through the screen door Drunk, and all alone Sending bottles at the Bradfords Cursing his only home He said: I am not like you I know when to go You're shaking that old globe Praying for snow Handmade guns Father holds his hands out to the son Razor tongues Words of lightning finally come Father waits Endlessly A smile on his face And an extra house key Handmade guns Leaving home to climb mountains But handmade love Does not measure by how far he runs Look here, see the small deer Crouching behind the apple tree It's a stranger, but it lives here It's home, even if it leaves