Take a right at the light that hangs low
On the street with the run down churches
Like a row of coffin womb-breakers
Then you drive on the road that leads through
The empty town in the cold of the north
Where the snow falls like bubbles from the dead
Then dig holes at the end of the road
When you find dried white bones near the house
That is still and is white you will know
You have found where I lived when I died.