Song | Muck and Mire |
Artist | Brown Bird |
Album | The Devil Dancing |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
I must drag my body through the muck and mire | |
Gather branches for it’s funeral pyre | |
Twigs I would rather twist into nests | |
Or whittle wooden wings and fly | |
But they said, hey oh dig another well | |
The water reeks of sulfur and it’s red as hell | |
Oh oh rip the curbing all away | |
Throw the wood on the funeral pyre | |
I’d call on my lord but he can’t help me now | |
I’d fall on my sword if I only knew how to believe there’s nothing above | |
Only absence of breath, of hatred and love | |
But it was born into me and if I can’t burn it out | |
I’ll forge all my swords into blades of a plow | |
And toil all my days in those fields of fire | |
And I will welcome those flames in a funeral pyre | |
I must drag my body through the muck and mire | |
Gather branches for it’s funeral pyre | |
Twigs I would rather twist into nests | |
Or whittle wooden wings and fly | |
But they said, hey oh dig another well | |
The water reeks of sulfur and it’s red as hell | |
Oh oh rip the curbing all away | |
Throw the wood on the funeral pyre | |
We file down our fangs on the bones of our foes | |
And curse their names with blood swollen tongues | |
We file down our hearts on the kindness of friends | |
Pick them up and cut them down again |
I must drag my body through the muck and mire | |
Gather branches for it' s funeral pyre | |
Twigs I would rather twist into nests | |
Or whittle wooden wings and fly | |
But they said, hey oh dig another well | |
The water reeks of sulfur and it' s red as hell | |
Oh oh rip the curbing all away | |
Throw the wood on the funeral pyre | |
I' d call on my lord but he can' t help me now | |
I' d fall on my sword if I only knew how to believe there' s nothing above | |
Only absence of breath, of hatred and love | |
But it was born into me and if I can' t burn it out | |
I' ll forge all my swords into blades of a plow | |
And toil all my days in those fields of fire | |
And I will welcome those flames in a funeral pyre | |
I must drag my body through the muck and mire | |
Gather branches for it' s funeral pyre | |
Twigs I would rather twist into nests | |
Or whittle wooden wings and fly | |
But they said, hey oh dig another well | |
The water reeks of sulfur and it' s red as hell | |
Oh oh rip the curbing all away | |
Throw the wood on the funeral pyre | |
We file down our fangs on the bones of our foes | |
And curse their names with blood swollen tongues | |
We file down our hearts on the kindness of friends | |
Pick them up and cut them down again |
I must drag my body through the muck and mire | |
Gather branches for it' s funeral pyre | |
Twigs I would rather twist into nests | |
Or whittle wooden wings and fly | |
But they said, hey oh dig another well | |
The water reeks of sulfur and it' s red as hell | |
Oh oh rip the curbing all away | |
Throw the wood on the funeral pyre | |
I' d call on my lord but he can' t help me now | |
I' d fall on my sword if I only knew how to believe there' s nothing above | |
Only absence of breath, of hatred and love | |
But it was born into me and if I can' t burn it out | |
I' ll forge all my swords into blades of a plow | |
And toil all my days in those fields of fire | |
And I will welcome those flames in a funeral pyre | |
I must drag my body through the muck and mire | |
Gather branches for it' s funeral pyre | |
Twigs I would rather twist into nests | |
Or whittle wooden wings and fly | |
But they said, hey oh dig another well | |
The water reeks of sulfur and it' s red as hell | |
Oh oh rip the curbing all away | |
Throw the wood on the funeral pyre | |
We file down our fangs on the bones of our foes | |
And curse their names with blood swollen tongues | |
We file down our hearts on the kindness of friends | |
Pick them up and cut them down again |