This path that we walk upon is the collection of
points that the rain has drawn. The rhythm section
of the storm. By the moonlight to the gateposts of
the forest, in the snow light, we are bound for
the portal of the pines. Grey as famine, on this
path against our will by our main sails we're
bound to the tempest until the sea is still. Which
compulsion with this miniature death tributize?
From behind the walls of my broken coughing tent,
a formal vision, but I allude to my helpless
passion for the obtuse When will this night end?
When the lightening finally tears through the mast
of our sinking ship. All the hopes of the slaves
are betrayed by the grates. On this coffin of a
vessel every note's another breaking wave. Revel
in this vision, a formal visitation, on the night
with the light from above. Famished dogs follow
slowly as my own paws drag me to a dock, to the
last plank where I struggle to deny myself the
path that every Pisces craves, just above the
water in the middle of that man-made lake. On that
Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/DqLpier I turn my eyes from the water like a mirror
of myself in the moonlight, and I cough for every
crater that I could see, on the surface of that
coffin we've come to call the moon. Now I wonder
if all those judgments that you made were true.
And the trapdoor of the solstice is thrown wide,
wide open. Let them all sink, let them all sink
through. The talking, the spinning of a web- its
all just formal ritual. The burning. The burning
question "what do you deserve?" The
gazing at a candle to find calm, but we all know
its at the center of the storm. Oh moon, though
pluckest me out, oh moon- I who have sat by Thebes
below the wall and walked among the lowest of the
dead (to Carthage then I came). Only the most
sacred crater will suit my burial, only the most
sacred choir performs this ritual dirge. Perfectly
imperfect, like a storm. By our mane dragged and
bound to our grave by our mane, to the grave
dragged and bound to the tomb by the scavenger's
tooth.