If the throne of a city is struck By the butcher and the baker And the candlestick maker If the beggars are horseless Numberless still Pointing as high as the moons If the dumb and the deaf Are seen in a city The locusts are spinning In the curtains and in the dust And the tip of your tail is behind your eyes And under your smiles The rivers are gathered Covered with clouds If the floorplan and structure And her statues are signless And the swallows cease singing in front of the flock If it rains razors, and murders, and slaughters If the Saint Fox is crowded And crowned by a blow If the codes in the stars Are the codes in your arms And the number you wear is formed like a wheel The kite and the eagle And the crop and the drop And the notes in the depths And in the dance of your breath Are seen in a city set upon a hill Sulfur and ebony, tamarisk and clay And the city is sliding, moving like dogs' teeth And the Moon had moved back-crack Beyond the eyes of the gods Forest and trust and glut And carnival; a glove On a snake in the cracked crown At the wake the Sun is dust And the bronze and the gold And the summer Sun Turns sketches of scribbles It's a river of words carrying deserts and shutters And a bowl full of spells Move your eyes from the gaze The Moon is dead now, Joke Moon The rabbit and hare in the Martyr Face By trap and snare and man "Now kill them all", says Peter PanTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
