| It won’t be long when morning comes
|
| We’ll pattern our adamantine waste
|
| A stranger waits along this road
|
| To take me home
|
| There is something when you draw near
|
| I destroy all things I hold dear
|
| Drink the light from a gibbet’s hand
|
| On an ailing shore, where it strands
|
| In every language I’ve confessed
|
| Its haunted name
|
| Where death opens her thighs
|
| Our paramour of broken tides
|
| You saw us die
|
| I’ve gathered myself
|
| There is something when you draw near
|
| I destroy all things I hold dear
|
| Drink the light from a gibbet’s hand
|
| On an ailing shore, where it strands
|
| For a vestige of closure
|
| In the pool of an eye
|
| That gained sight in a darkness
|
| That was long before night
|
| I come to say my name, I said
|
| I know he wants it where he goes
|
| I know it takes my lot to live
|
| I know it takes this world to die
|
| In mirrors digged up from the earth
|
| I see myself
|
| Lambent upon my childhood fields
|
| In wounds
|
| There is something when you draw near
|
| I destroy all things I hold dear
|
| Drink the light from a gibbet’s hand
|
| On an ailing shore, where it strands |