Myselves
the grievers
grieve
among the streets burned to tireless death
a child of a view hours
with it's kneading mouth
charred on the black brest of the grave
the mother dug, and it's arms full of fire
Begin with singing - sing
darkness kindled back into beginning
when the caught tongue nodded blind
a star was broken
into the centuries of the child
myselves grieve now, and miracles cannot atone
Forgive - us forgive
us your death that myselves, the believers
may hold it in a great flood
till the blood shall spurt,
and the dust shall sing like a bird
as the grains blow, as your death grows through our heart
Crying
your dying cry
child beyond the cockcrow, by the fire-dwarfed
street we chant the flying sea
in the body bereft
love is last light spoken
oh seed of the sons
in the loin of the black husk left...