| When all is done and turned to dust
|
| And insects nest inside my bones, I see
|
| I stagger in a daze outside my tent
|
| No time for being alone
|
| To bleed
|
| The hopeless singing of a round
|
| That much we know to do
|
| Before we go back underground
|
| No easy action
|
| Sparks fill the air some nights
|
| Crows look for food behind my skin
|
| Beneath
|
| Try our best to dig it in
|
| And keep the cold away, I see
|
| That the sky is a vanishing place
|
| And then there’s nothing to miss
|
| No time to get out of the ice
|
| No easy action
|
| Although all else may turn to dust
|
| And insects nest inside my bones, I see
|
| I stagger in a daze to find what you meant
|
| Where it’s good to be alone
|
| Bleed
|
| The hopeless singing of a round
|
| Before that vanishing place
|
| Before we’re back underground
|
| No easy action |