The sky has scrapers now
|
The streets are made of clothes
|
Embroidered on every single sleeve
|
Some of us have seen
|
The Golden Arrows poised
|
Arc across the plaints
|
Turns us pale
|
Some of us have seen
|
The Golden Arrows poised
|
Arc across the plaints
|
Turns us pale
|
So this is where the shapes begin to drip
|
Her drunk teeth fluttering in the wind
|
|
-----------------
|
The King's Garden
|
| Falling Up |
