So who is this Soul that you sing of?
This silent witness
Who counts the leaves off of trees
instead of gathering them?
And raking them into a funerary pile,
Into the giant pile that your better self will fall from,
Or jump into.
Up to your eyeballs,
Up to your own private crown of thorns.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 10:57 AM UTC
So who is this Soul that you sing of?
This silent witness
Who counts the leaves off of trees
instead of gathering them?
And raking them into a funerary pile,
Into the giant pile that your better self will fall from,
Or jump into.
Up to your eyeballs,
Up to your own private crown of thorns.
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