Dirt Poor Robins Wax Cylinder Sonata
Maybe these paperbacks are cages
With secrets bound beneath the pages?
Between the lines the truth lies in the spaces
The gentle winding of a clock and
Automatons have started walkin'
Now from beyond a metal army marches on
A phoenix smolders in my head
What if the dead are never truly dead?
A camera for her eyes
This timepiece for her mind
These heirlooms forsaken
Reclaimed and made into my grand device
With a wax cylinder sonata for a voice…
Voice
Voice
Voice
Voice
Illuminate my way with bricks of yellow
A painted road to follow fallen hallows
And through the forest haunted
I sojourn forward dauntless
For I know
I've no place like a home
Though this could be my magnum opus
My labor must remain unnoticed
Swift as a ghost and blurred out from their focus
A camera for her eyes
This timepiece for her mind
These heirlooms forsaken
Reclaimed and made into my grand device
With a wax cylinder sonata
A wax cylinder sonata for a voice
Voice
Voice
Voice
Voice…
