Standing on the edge of the cliff, I start to slip.
Don't mind if I slide off.
Now I feel my mood start to lift,
I find my grip and the screaming fades away below.
I grab myself and spin me around I start to sprint.
I climb down to steadier ground.
If I can bushwhack it on back to the shack
Behind those hills I'll find the world is finally still.

Run through pale dark woods to that Sugar Shack
Breathe warm steam and hide in that old Sugar Shack.

Boiling heat, maple steam frozen snow then it flows.
When you leave, maple trees wait till spring to go again.

A mosaic of lies I tried to arrange in ways that shelter the blame.
I though I might have made off clear with all of the loot.
I plucked and ate all the fruit.
Then I started hearing the yells
And shattering plates drowned out by your slithering stares.
I was followed and chased and caught
And tied up by the hay right until I made my escape.

Run through pale dark woods to that Sugar Shack
Breathe warm steam and hide in that old Sugar Shack.

Copyright: Downtown Music Publishing
Writer(s): MIKE GORDON