|
None so hopelessly blind |
|
Is he who will not look |
|
None so hopelessly kind |
|
Is he who didn't see, they took |
|
All that is feral, that is sweet |
|
In this war against descent |
|
You shook your head and took the knife instead |
|
But that's not what I meant |
|
Into the snow grass |
|
Upon the hills |
|
Holy this and holy that |
|
but there's no friendly shapes here |
|
Oh, and the blood has made our dream hard to light |
|
It's only rough magic |
|
There's nothing to ignite |
|
I've overplayed my hand |
|
You never screamed |
|
Though you talked from a dream |
|
Yeah, you never screamed |
|
Though you talked from a dream |
|
Too |
|
None so hopelessly blind |
|
Is he who will not look |
|
None so hopelessly kind |
|
Is he who didn't see, they took |
|
All that is feral, that is sweet |
|
In this war against descent |
|
And you shook your head and took the knife instead |
|
But that's not what I meant |
|
Into the snow grass |
|
Upon the hills |
|
Holy this and holy that |
|
but there's no friendly shapes here |
|
Oh and the blood has made our dream hard to like |
|
It's only rough magic |
|
There's nothing to it |
|
And I, oh, I've overplayed my hand |
|
And you never screamed |
|
Although you talked from a dream |
|
Oh, you never screamed |
|
Although you talked from a dream |
|
Too |
|
Oh, and the blood has made our dream hard to like |
|
It's only rough magic |
|
There's nothing to it |
|
And I, I've overplayed my hand |
|
And you never screamed |
|
Although you talked from a dream |
|
Oh, you never screamed |
|
Although you talked from a dream |
|
Too |
