He crouches on the floor, there's a mask on the wall And he leafs, through the pages of a book But wait as he may in the shadow of other leaves His heart, in embraces to times long since scorched
The horizon folds over, with a purpose sun rise And the wind, carry smoke, from the world that is burning The smoke clogs in his hair, and he's covered with patterns And a decent, of life trees, on his camouflaged soul With a winter of memories, carved ponder bone white Beyond his sculls for, a scorpion lies In the crunch of the snow, as his darkness increases A twilight of ice, encircles his teeth
This is a song for Douglas, after he's dead This is a song for Douglas, his mercury dances
There's a swastika carved, in the palm of his hand There's a crooked cross, that is caught in his mind There waits a falling sun, in his eyes There's the honor, of violence, on his lips His father waits for him, in the towers of silence Where they worship the fires, so long ago quenched And the two willow trees, with el has inverted The fork of life snapped They are father and son So mingling dust, as if life itself, had been mostly illusion But parchly real And parchly pain
And over some wall, if you look through ruble Amongst ruins of churches, where life conquers death Thou empires can not last, where blood and concepts The folted and failed A cloud still sow his teeth As the world disappears
This is a song for Douglas, after he's dead This is a song for my Douglas, his mercury dances
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Copy to Clipboard: He crouches on the floor, there's a mask on the wall And he leafs, through the pages of a book But wait as he may in the shadow of other leaves His heart, in embraces to times long since scorched
The horizon folds over, with a purpose sun rise And the wind, carry smoke, from the world that is burning The smoke clogs in his hair, and he's covered with patterns And a decent, of life trees, on his camouflaged soul With a winter of memories, carved ponder bone white Beyond his sculls for, a scorpion lies In the crunch of the snow, as his darkness increases A twilight of ice, encircles his teeth
This is a song for Douglas, after he's dead This is a song for Douglas, his mercury dances
There's a swastika carved, in the palm of his hand There's a crooked cross, that is caught in his mind There waits a falling sun, in his eyes There's the honor, of violence, on his lips His father waits for him, in the towers of silence Where they worship the fires, so long ago quenched And the two willow trees, with el has inverted The fork of life snapped They are father and son So mingling dust, as if life itself, had been mostly illusion But parchly real And parchly pain
And over some wall, if you look through ruble Amongst ruins of churches, where life conquers death Thou empires can not last, where blood and concepts The folted and failed A cloud still sow his teeth As the world disappears
This is a song for Douglas, after he's dead This is a song for my Douglas, his mercury dances
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