Brown Bird Muck And Mire
I must drag my body through the muck and mire
Gather branches for it’s funeral pyre
Twigs I would rather twist into nests
Or whittle wooden wings and fly
But they said, hey oh dig another well
The water reeks of sulfur and it’s red as hell
Oh oh rip the curbing all away
Throw the wood on the funeral pyre
I’d call on my lord but he can’t help me now
I’d fall on my sword if I only knew how to believe there’s nothing above
Only absence of breath, of hatred and love
But it was born into me and if I can’t burn it out
I’ll forge all my swords into blades of a plow
And toil all my days in those fields of fire
And I will welcome those flames in a funeral pyre
I must drag my body through the muck and mire
Gather branches for it’s funeral pyre
Twigs I would rather twist into nests
Or whittle wooden wings and fly
But they said, hey oh dig another well
The water reeks of sulfur and it’s red as hell
Oh oh rip the curbing all away
Throw the wood on the funeral pyre
We file down our fangs on the bones of our foes
And curse their names with blood swollen tongues
We file down our hearts on the kindness of friends
Pick them up and cut them down again
