Organ's stumps, pipe's severed head Between the vents a tent soaked wet Coniferous guitars give pace To the wind's breath of ancient shapes
Hunched and slumped, it howls and bellows Shadow's echoes, echo's shadows Forest of the wordless night A hundred owls in flood-like flight
Midnights feet smell soft and sweet Of blueberries and all things free While father holds an empty bowl Under the sour cherry tree
He promised autumn will be here to meet But autumn failed, as winter did Spring teased us with a straight-faced lie And summer fled by way of sky
Naked voices take a bath In shallow stream beneath the path Through cell they into waters fell With fading sounds of olden bellTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
