As I hover in that dream-haze between sleep and reality
I imagine myself a dove that carries a bit of me away
And cloaked in sorrow's shroud.
The Me that is You but glides, glides
To the crystal margin
There, beneath the muting cold
You despair and offer your spoils
And I lay my gaze upon the daughter Earth.
And push you down, my fingers bleed the dirt
Whirlpools retrograde and banish skies
that weaken clouds that rain.
Milk which quenches fire
I imagine myself a dove that carries a bit of me away
And cloaked in sorrow's shroud.
The Me that is You but glides, glides
To the crystal margin
There, beneath the muting cold
You despair and offer your spoils
And I lay my gaze upon the daughter Earth.
And push you down, my fingers bleed the dirt
Whirlpools retrograde and banish skies
that weaken clouds that rain.
Milk which quenches fire