Sweet mercies, cruel givings
A life like this is not truly living,
Soft touches, words tender,
Fickle feelings and false pretenders
If there was a world far away
With the sun and the stars out to play
If there was a world far and few
What chances would there be for me to do
The grand things my little heart desires
For it's like pulling a thimble from a thicket of briars
Is there any mercy me
Thumb on wrist, tongue on teeth,
The dreamer's dreams are nothing mild
Return to wild, return to wild,
Let the roots of the trees reclaim you
Sing the song of the birds, let them laugh
You'll be heard, though the thicket overgrew.
Kings and poets lost to time, hear them rhyme,
Beneath the ground the rot, the crunch
It comes ever near, the decaying clutch
Though the heart is what bleeds,
We grieve within twisted weeds,
The heart so cruel to reach beyond
Our twisted grasp, our ragged bonds,
When the night chills the air,
The cold wind and warm breeze spin on,
Birds tumble on through despair,
I love you, I love you I cry,
Yet the words don't escape
The mist by mouth shaped.
Desperate for a time
Desperation runs wild, spinning the twine
Your lips on skin and gentle caress
Do words confess, what lies in your chest?
And if we to the morning breeze
Lie awake, breath heavy,
The vines by which my fragile heart is seized
To honor the rage with which we bleed
A flower grows strident amongst the weeds.
