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Figure hanging on a leather band |
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Cog consults the watch he cups in his hand |
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Bejewelled movement measures lost and vanished time |
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Pray for the boy who makes his bed in cold earth and quicklime |
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Chorus: |
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So stay the hands, arrest the time |
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'till i am captured by your touch |
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Blessings i don't count |
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Small mercies and such |
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The flags may lower as we approach the favourite hour |
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Now there's a tragic waste of brutal youth |
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Strip and polish this unvarnished truth |
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The tricky door that gapes beneath the ragged noose |
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The crippled verdict begs again for the lamest excuse |
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Chorus |
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Pull out my eyes so i may never spy |
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Waving branches as they're waving goodbye |
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Their vile perfume brings to my mouth a bitter taste |
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The murmuring brooks had best speak up, it's a terrible waste |
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Chorus |
