|
This is it, all we've worked for, |
|
Foreign and cold to the touch. |
|
They freeze and they do burn, |
|
These silent indications, |
|
Only we could keep them under control. |
|
You breath an ordained smoke, |
|
Please don't blow it towards me, |
|
Or hold my hands and tell me |
|
I am worthy of something withstanding. |
|
In short and uneasy motions, |
|
We let our youth just slip away to fill a giant urn. |
|
Revived within ourselves in symphony and song, |
|
With limbs like lifeless tools, darting towards the sun. |
|
I shot dead the only one we had to guide us home. |
|
Through fog-smoke white, no starlit sky, |
|
Nor dim nor red, just an idle painted ship, |
|
Upon a painted ocean. |
|
We're glowing again. |
|
I shot dead the only one we had to guide us home. |
|
Thoughts unhelped by the wind, |
|
In solitude they drown. |
|
I have carried them. |
|
I, though silent, |
|
I am your brother. |
|
Weaving circles around our hearts, |
|
Inaudible as dreams of that eternal language we commit to. |
|
This is it, all we've worked for, |
|
Foreign and cold to the touch. |
|
And everything we gave has tied us unto this earth, |
|
Quietly shining bold, |
|
And I am your brother. |
