the words were like poison
and they sat on my conscience like a weapon
like a desert landscape in the fair kingdom
the words that she laid at my door
just would not sit right with me
no matter how many of the guilty i ran to ground
no matter how many of the fears i cast aside
the history of it felt like a cold stone hall
and its midnight man running with his flickering torch
and his sweaty face filled with a thousand nameless terrors
he bears the tidings with a hesitant hand
a crumpled rag of paper with her words scrawled
with a desperate hand of ignorance
its history tastes like that to me
we rode far into the north country
trying to put some miles between us and the steady rain
trying to shake the pursuit that is more felt than seen
a chaser like a figure emerging from the heat haze in
the desert valley of tombs
we rode far into the trackless wood of the north
and camped up by the river
you became like a ***** hermit
and i became a bitter shadow of a creek crawler
cursed for not having drunk of the sweet nectar of her loves
one day announced you were fleeing this place
cause you had found god
so you went back to the lowlands
and preached to the crows in the pickers field
but when evening had flown it took your madness with it
so we had to begin again
so into the dark of night we ride
seeking the world
seeking the truth untainted by her lies
and in the fierce fire of her unforgiving eye
you finally see that you will know no peace till
you have set aright the fallen house
restore the mantle of the broken kingdom to its rightful heirs
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
the words were like poison
and they sat on my conscience like a weapon
like a desert landscape in the fair kingdom
the words that she laid at my door
just would not sit right with me
no matter how many of the guilty i ran to ground
no matter how many of the fears i cast aside
the history of it felt like a cold stone hall
and its midnight man running with his flickering torch
and his sweaty face filled with a thousand nameless terrors
he bears the tidings with a hesitant hand
a crumpled rag of paper with her words scrawled
with a desperate hand of ignorance
its history tastes like that to me
we rode far into the north country
trying to put some miles between us and the steady rain
trying to shake the pursuit that is more felt than seen
a chaser like a figure emerging from the heat haze in
the desert valley of tombs
we rode far into the trackless wood of the north
and camped up by the river
you became like a ***** hermit
and i became a bitter shadow of a creek crawler
cursed for not having drunk of the sweet nectar of her loves
one day announced you were fleeing this place
cause you had found god
so you went back to the lowlands
and preached to the crows in the pickers field
but when evening had flown it took your madness with it
so we had to begin again
so into the dark of night we ride
seeking the world
seeking the truth untainted by her lies
and in the fierce fire of her unforgiving eye
you finally see that you will know no peace till
you have set aright the fallen house
restore the mantle of the broken kingdom to its rightful heirs
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