| My fingers are thrones | |
| Thorns where the roots clog | |
| Perfectly formless | |
| Clasping a bamboo prison | |
| A sad majesty | |
| In a subatomic red caress | |
| In a calligraphy of skin | |
| Vespers and incense | |
| Howling through our lungs | |
| Like a lascivious meridian | |
| When soft the holy water fell | |
| Except it didn't | |
| A mardi gras of lament | |
| Sixteen hands high | |
| Fifteen coins tall | |
| Sixteen hands high | |
| Fifteen coins tall | |
| For the watchers at the palace | |
| At the tiger mandible banquet | |
| A wreath in the gloaming | |
| Lies like birds swarm | |
| A sad majesty | |
| In a subatomic red caress | |
| In a calligraphy of skin | |
| From their mouths | |
| "O' Jerusalem | |
| We remain unuttered" | |
| But their cries | |
| Mote the mountains groaning | |
| And we carry a pallbearer's gloom | |
| For all the saints in the sun can't save us now... |
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