| To protest the moon
|
| To protest the idea of sleep
|
| To balance our calm and our urgency
|
| To protest their notion of fraternity and race
|
| I never masked my grief
|
| So come show your face
|
| Come out to breathe just for a while
|
| And do not neglect your guile
|
| Come home, come home, for the trials of rome
|
| Now you try to break free
|
| With more courage than skill
|
| And what worried me then
|
| And worries me still
|
| Is that you can’t stab a king in the dark
|
| And you need that initial spark to be pure
|
| And you need to be sure of your shot
|
| So bury me beneath their arenas
|
| While the scent still lingers
|
| This icy ring has turned my hand
|
| So cold and so numb
|
| Now it’s time to bare the secrets you wear
|
| At your throat and be gone
|
| All tired and naked
|
| I’d trade my gun for a blanket
|
| And get some sleep tonight
|
| To wear tomorrow’s scars with pride
|
| I can still smell it on you
|
| The spell they put on you
|
| For what has been repressed
|
| Shall leak out through the cracks
|
| Have you come to run astray with me?
|
| Bound to know a few secrecies?
|
| So nod your thanks to me
|
| For these are the gifts that custom demands
|
| Lemons and tea and a letter that grants
|
| Freedom and obscurity
|
| To protest the moon
|
| To protest the idea of sleep
|
| To balance our calm and our urgency
|
| To protest their notions
|
| Of fraternity and race
|
| I never masked my grief
|
| So come show your face
|
| To protest the moon
|
| To protest the idea of sleep
|
| To balance our calm and our urgency… |