Lyrics
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He sees his God,Upside-down upon the cross,Disheveled,Though bandagedBy the pauper’s rags.That man,Withdrawn into the dirtBeneath his perfect feet.His remorseTakes a courseBackwards, away from what he fearsMay send him into tears. Beautiful imageOf a Saint,Whose blood flows as crimson dustDown to the same earthA man with perfect feet, sends his following.Dust,Eternal in its slopeTo no one’s
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I blacken, with such sounds,The motions of my feeble arms,The blue awakening of my skies,To drown in your cloudsThe harrowing blue curves of your tears. You count the petalsSpring unleashesTo the scented winds,Breathing sweetTouches of longing. You hold out a handThat I may kiss.You take a standWhere I may catch you,Should you fall. Your eyes,
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Bloody offspring Of mine, on the lakes Of debris, Call your nightmare Your chapter, Onwards to conclusion. Let your roar be for the moon’s own tears, Escaping your dreams, running from fears. Force sympathy apart, Wrench the compassion from stones, For you have licked ivory. You see the towers, You see the lighthouse, You see
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You once grew currents,To be let free from despondent eyes.You once cried in aghast tantrums,Losing your sanity with each surmise.You once faded into memories of men,Who had treated you poorly. Poor thing,Welcome upThis new evening,For I have set a bird upon your shoulderThat chirps for the newest morn.You have felt somber, in the need to
Modern Romanticism 