Glare

"Grace is a gift for the fallen, dear:
you're an angry blade and you're brave,
but you're all alone."
-- Iron & Wine, An Angry Blade


GLARE

We are the grateful lost:
like ivory we lie
amidst the faded bone;
we teach the wind to sing it's name,
a keening twist of ancient song.
No footprints stir the dusty ground,
no eyes to see us faintly gleam:
beneath the racing skies we shoot
like burning stars,
     and westerning, are gone.

We are the grateful lost:
like ivory our lies
were strewn amidst our bones;
we whispered down the wind our names,
a twisted song of ancient pain.
No footsteps near our dusty graves,
no eyes to see our final grins:
beneath the burning skies we ran
like dying stars,
     and westerning, were gone.

We are the grateful lost:
with lies they'll throw our bones
amidst the barren stones;
we'll wend upon the western wind
a painful song that can't be heard.
No hands will tend our empty graves,
no eyes will see our resting place:
beneath the skies we'll run like fire
that takes to flight,
     and westerning, is gone.

Get this widget | Track details | eSnips Social DNA