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Mount Marcy is growing sparse |
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She is the farce that I would like to tell |
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From the bottom of your well |
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Feel the bushes, brambles rambling |
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Ample sapling, suckling all the air |
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And the North from Marcy's hair |
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When my death-day comes |
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When my death-day numbs me |
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I shall become one |
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I shall become nothing |
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And something! |
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Something is the heaven-king for me! |
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Your crucifixion-three-large-hills are |
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Shadow-making over stilts we built |
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On the mountain's silt |
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Marcy, you're my fav'rite love! |
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Seventeen and freckled like a soul |
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To forget you would be so |
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Hard on me |
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Hard on me |
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Hard on me to cut you from my dream-range |
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But we shall become one |
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We shall become nothing |
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And something! |
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That something is the heaven-king for me! |
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Birds are chirping, you're usurping |
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Things that I would never want to tell |
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From the top of your landfill |
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Workers smoking, all evoking |
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Every county, full of filth and love |
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To which you're bound above |
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When my death-day comes |
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For certain, I'll be sorry |
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For all that I have done indoors |
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When outside sons were shining |
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Blinding! Binding! |
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Reminding me the heaven-king is one! |
