David Sylvian The Ink In The Well
The lights of the ashes smoulder through hills and vales Nostalgia burns in the hearts of the strongest Picasso is painting the ships in the harbour The wind and sails These are the years with a genius for living The rope is cut, the rabbit loose (Fire at will in this open season) The blood of the poet, the ink in the well (It's all written down in this age of reason) The animals run through harvested fields of fire The bitterness shown on the face of the homeless Picasso is paining the flames from the houses The sudden rain These are the years with a genius for living The rope has been cut, the rabbit is loose (Fire at will in this open season) The blood of the poet, the ink in the well (It's all written down in this age of reason) Fire at will Fire at will Fire at will