| None so hopelessly blind
|
| Is he who will not look
|
| None so hopelessly kind
|
| Is he who didn’t see, they took
|
| All that is feral, that is sweet
|
| In this war against descent
|
| You shook your head and took the knife instead
|
| But that’s not what I meant
|
| Into the snow grass
|
| Upon the hills
|
| Holy this and holy that
|
| But there’s no friendly shapes here
|
| Oh, and the blood has made our dream hard to light
|
| It’s only rough magic
|
| There’s nothing to ignite
|
| I’ve overplayed my hand
|
| You never screamed
|
| Though you talked from a dream
|
| Yeah, you never screamed
|
| Though you talked from a dream
|
| Too
|
| None so hopelessly blind
|
| Is he who will not look
|
| None so hopelessly kind
|
| Is he who didn’t see, they took
|
| All that is feral, that is sweet
|
| In this war against descent
|
| And you shook your head and took the knife instead
|
| But that’s not what I meant
|
| Into the snow grass
|
| Upon the hills
|
| Holy this and holy that
|
| But there’s no friendly shapes here
|
| Oh and the blood has made our dream hard to like
|
| It’s only rough magic
|
| There’s nothing to it
|
| And I, oh, I’ve overplayed my hand
|
| And you never screamed
|
| Although you talked from a dream
|
| Oh, you never screamed
|
| Although you talked from a dream
|
| Too
|
| Oh, and the blood has made our dream hard to like
|
| It’s only rough magic
|
| There’s nothing to it
|
| And I, I’ve overplayed my hand
|
| And you never screamed
|
| Although you talked from a dream
|
| Oh, you never screamed
|
| Although you talked from a dream
|
| Too |