God
cage the somber
Before the feathers run brown.
God guard the windows,
That we may no hallowed be sound,
And this island shall be shackled to her waters,
Here with thou never to change.
Here
we will stand at last for something
With no desire to pretend.
We'll send up our prayers to gilded idols,
Their names etched in hardwood of palm,
Scattered the ashes of the cobjacks,
Their freedom so hallowed song.
God
cage the somber
Before the feathers run brown.
God guard the windows,
That we may no
hallowed be sound,
Now the street lamp will be tethered to her station,
As the poor man is tethered to the flesh.
The wise man will be tethered to his wisdom,
As the mother is tethered to her crèche.
Close your hunger, your awareness of salvation,
As your chances go snipping into the past.
You're tortured by the changing of the seasons,
And each grain of sand in the glass.
God cage the somber
Before the feathers run brown.
God guard the windows,
That we may no
hallowed be sound.
God cage the somber
Before the
feathers run brown.