March Violets Slow Drip Lizard
Lizard hear the sound
Of a song that kicks
As it shivers in death
Tortured by a sense of humour
That razors up to slit your face
Lizards in the icicle shed
Skin of prophets falling down
Melted venom liquid notes
And honeyed poison on the ground
It was it was
They fall off the floor
And stick to the walls
Through walls of jet
With a spider-like step
And honeyed words
That glow in the dark
Lizard eyes tell of the past
Reflect upon the shattered glass
Frozen in the painful sound
Of burning words
On judgement day
Something brittle in the voice
Grew some wings and flew away
It was it was
They fall off the floor
And stick to the walls
Slow drip lizard
