the things that shroud the movement
seemed sewn into these little drawings
secrets are told right through our dark grace
- each and every as a cold patience of the grave
then interrupted by a current disaster took the silenced papers as their only consort
many I know took that subtle atmosphere
- each and every as a cold patience of the grave
that image of them peacefully disappears carried away by the pale horse under the invisible moonlight
Attribution: post cover and lyrics are mine