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Walk with me down to the water's edge |
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Where the mirrors lie and wait... |
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This feeling speaks |
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With the quiet flutes of fall, |
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That disturb the sleep of sunken images, |
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The memory of voices in abandoned rooms, |
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It breathes darkly through a lonely man, |
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The kiss of brother Cain |
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Walk with me down to the rivers edge |
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Where the secrets lie and wait... |
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These wounds bleed |
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The solemn pride of mourning, |
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An overwhelming pain nourishing the flame, |
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The cold embrace of breaking hearts, |
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And though the nails may hurt |
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Don't take this pain away |
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This sadness speaks |
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Of golden plains and lakes of blue, |
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Like the curse of a wrathful god |
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Like dew dropping from a thorn, |
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It speaks of things in secret tongues, |
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It is speaking out a name |
