|
Fire burning in a hill |
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The lines are rocky rough |
|
Red angels wait to pick remains |
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The cindered shoulder |
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Of confused men |
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Seperate from their awe |
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With grey desire |
|
He looks out mad |
|
His soft grey indigo eyes |
|
Indigo eyes |
|
Asking His heaven is uncovered not |
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A black tree blocks his way |
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His way is skating round a dome |
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His way is in dismay |
|
The playmate sings |
|
Like Orphee in some thunder world |
|
Asking to be bathed in light |
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To be exemplified |
|
Like Orphee in some thunder world |
|
Asking to be bathed in light |
|
To be exemplified |
|
With grey desire he looks out mad |
|
His soft grey indigo eyes |
|
Saw his past |
|
He had dug for trust |
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With blind infected hands |
|
And wondered as the hurt bit hard |
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Why the sacred weren't at hand |
|
Only when his ears were deaf |
|
To the angels light burst waves |
|
Only when his ears were deaf |
|
Did life turn from fog to fog |
|
But not evil but estranged |
|
But not evil but estranged |
|
Indigo eyes, |
|
Indigo eyes |
|
Indigo eyes, |
|
Indigo eyes |
|
With grey desire |
|
He looks out mad |
|
His soft grey |
|
Indigo eyes |
|
Indigo eyes |
