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Melford Lake: John Cameron Mitchell y Stephen Trask.

Ay.

I used to live in a town underneath Milford Lake. You could throw a rock from here, you might hit my house, if you try. Who would know? I don't mind. There used to be a road, I suppose there might still be. For a crab, or a fish. It ran from my reflection way over by that boat to her house, every night, every night.

Wasted all the time, waited for no one, don't be so cautious. Water washes away many things, but I can't come clean. No, I can't come clean, mmh, I can't come clean.

The flood was two weeks' rising in 1869. The buffalo all drowned and floated in the trees. In the flood of '51, eight boxcars overturned, and the people washed away. And the Mexican day-workers pulled the reefer from their yards and ran for higher ground. Someone wrapped a baby in a shirt and hung him crying, crying from a tree. There used to be a lot of floods before they built this dam.

Wasted all the time, waited for no one, don't be so cautious. Water washes away many things, but I can't come clean. No, I can't come clean.

We're gonna drown. We're gonna drown. We're gonna drown. We're gonna drown.

I used to live in a town underneath Milford Lake. Waiting in the spillway stream things small enough to make it through. Floating on a wave of your hand, but they're far between and few. I'm looking for an artifact of the things I left behind. Piece of you, piece of me, too worn down to recognize.

Wasted all the time, waited for no one. Don't be so cautious. Water washes away everything, but I can't come clean, no I can't come clean. Mm, I can't come clean.

Come clean, come clean.

Come clean, come clean.

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!)