Made in the shade of a weather-bent grave
Fly like the flames in a cave of an old age
Eye of the cliff side takes gaze at the blaze
A world burning as it’s turning like a half-flipped page
While the sage boils sage in attempt to re-engage
The memories of centuries as they fade into the daze
A gypsy drops spades, says that everything will change
Now the grass blades sway like waves and the moon is strange
Like a whisper before the war, a sigh before the slaughter
Mothers escape into mountains with their arms around their daughters
And the suns rise ready for the fight beside their fathers
And the gypsy woman lied, a pretty penny paid
For her to say that everything would change
Yet it stayed the same
(c) 2015
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
Made in the shade of a weather-bent grave
Fly like the flames in a cave of an old age
Eye of the cliff side takes gaze at the blaze
A world burning as it’s turning like a half-flipped page
While the sage boils sage in attempt to re-engage
The memories of centuries as they fade into the daze
A gypsy drops spades, says that everything will change
Now the grass blades sway like waves and the moon is strange
Like a whisper before the war, a sigh before the slaughter
Mothers escape into mountains with their arms around their daughters
And the suns rise ready for the fight beside their fathers
And the gypsy woman lied, a pretty penny paid
For her to say that everything would change
Yet it stayed the same
(c) 2015
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