My Dying Bride Of Sorry Eyes In March
Destiny marks your life
With a knowing indie.
The act of desire has walked on by.
An ancient soul limps from your eyes
It is just your [tear?] left to it.
Flies lie dying on your soury lips
And on young love's broken wings.
And the stone that lets you drown
You are not worth stopping for.
The Earth,
With all it's blessing
And the endless [patterns?] of night.
Lay a raft of gold for you
My field here
Is where we end.
