I'll let all the fists clenched in me fall supine.
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I'll let all the eddies in me cease to whirl.
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I'll let my damp, dark braid daily unfurl.
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I'll let every lace I plait return to twine.
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Now this home is an opened oyster.
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Now we know for certain of it's treasure
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Now we know for certain of it's treasure
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Now we know for certain of it's treasure
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Now we know for certain it has passed on.
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I'll put a bullhorn to the mouth of your ghost
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and gently as a mobile you'll return.
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Three Prayers For Unsensational Resurrection: iii. Heckling The Afterglow
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| Snowblink |
