He takes a shot and back in the dark,
Careful shade he hides.
At dawn, he commits sedition and
Away from dawn he rides.
He calls himself a tortured soul,
Pulled away by the tides.
There’s nothing left but dying.

The dawn brings his lover to his house
To spend a little while.
Then he wept for he failed to see
Delilah’s crooked smile.
Now, he has fangs of vicious prey
That reflect the light like tiles.
And for all of that, the bird is no longer flying.

When the night veils his happiness,
He leads the sun astray.
Slashing the tires of Apollo’s chariot
So he cannot bring the day.
And he pins the mountains to the ground
So they cannot fly away.
And then he shuns the crucifix for lying.

The markets there are flooded with
Men who don’t refrain.
He wanders without his memory;
Feathers suppressing pain.
He declaims that he wears no frown
That’s true, but he lies in vain.
The markets hold nothing for him worth buying.

At noon the blind beggar comes
To look him in the eye.
When he’s finished clipping angel wings,
So they may no longer fly,
He confesses to the most sinful man
For he’s still afraid to die.
And he finds himself, in his sorrow, crying.

And at this wink of dawn, he knows he's still alive.
But all he cares to ask from God is when dusk will arrive.
From the hopeless dreams of hopefulness, his wicked mind derives
thoughts that ground the deadbeat birds from flying.