|
Fire burning in a hill |
|
The lines are rocky rough |
|
Red angels wait to pick remains |
|
The cindered shoulder |
|
Of confused men |
|
Separate from their, their awe |
|
With grey desire |
|
He looks out mad |
|
His soft grey |
|
Indigo eyes |
|
Indigo eyes -- |
|
Asking His heaven is uncovered not |
|
A black tree blocks his way |
|
His way is skating round a dome (His way is in dismay) |
|
The playmate sings |
|
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 |
|
Indigo eyes |
|
Saw his past |
|
He had dug for trust |
|
With blind infected hands |
|
And wondered as the hurt bit hard |
|
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 |
|
Was not evil but estranged |
|
Was 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 |
