Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hourglass For Rosy Abelisk, artist - Current 93. Album song Earth Covers Earth, in the genre АльтернативаDate of issue: 21.09.2008
Record label: David Tibet
Song language: English
Hourglass For Rosy Abelisk |
| My life is measur’d by this glasse, this glass |
| By all those little Sands that thorough passe |
| See how they presse, see how they strive, which shall |
| With greatest speed speed and greatest quicknesse fall |
| See how they raise a little Mount, and then |
| With their owne weight doe levell it agen |
| But then th’have all got thorough, they give o’re |
| Their nimble sliding downe, and move no more |
| Just such is man whose houres still forward run |
| Being almost finsht ere they are begun |
| So perfect nothings, such light blasts are we |
| That ere w’are ought at all, we cease to be |
| Do what we will, our hasty minutes fly |
| And while we sleep what do we else but die? |
| How transient are our Joyes, how short their days! |
| They creepe on towards us, but flie away |
| How stinging are our sorrows! |
| where they gaine |
| But the least footing there they will remaine |
| How groundless are our hopes, how they deceive |
| Our childish thoughts, and onely sorrow leave! |
| How real are our feares! |
| they blast us still |
| Stil rend us, still with gnawing passions fill; |
| How senseless are our wishes, yet how great! |
| With that toile we pursue them with that sweat! |
| Yet most times for our hurts so small we see |
| Like Children crying for some mercurie |
| This gapes for Marriage, yet his fickle head |
| Knows not what cares waite on a Marriage bed |
| This woves Virginity, yet knows not what |
| Lonenesse, griefe, discontent, attends that state |
| Desires of wealth anothers wishes hold |
| And yet how many have been choak’d with Gold? |
| This onely hunts for honour yet whop shall |
| Ascend the higher, shall more wretched fall |
| This thirsts for knowledge, yet how is it bought? |
| With many a sleeplesse night and racking though? |
| This needs will travel, yet how dangers lay |
| Most secret Ambuscado’s in the way? |
| These triumph in their Beaty, though it shall |
| Like a pluck’t Rose or fading Little fall |
| Another hoasts strong armes, las Giants have |
| By silly Dwarfes been drag’d unto their grave |
| These ruffle in rich silke, though ne’re so gay |
| A well plum’d Peacock is more gay thatn they |
| Poore man, what art! |
| A Tennis ball of Errour |
| A ship of Glasse, toss’d in a Sea of terrour |
| Issuing in blood and sorrow from the wombe |
| Crauling in tears and mounting to the tombe |
| How slippery are thy pathes, how sure thy fall |
| How art thou Nothing when th’art most of all! |