keskiviikko 22. helmikuuta 2012

Song of the Weaver

My sad little bird
caged inside
Your body, your mind
Sing your songs of agony
Whisper your sorrows
only for me
Oh, I should not dream so.

My sorrow song
spun of silence
Teach my young one
off ways of  the world
Teach of suffering
Teach of violence
Oh, will we ever be free to go?

Time; the mistress most cruel
What ever will we do
When our hands are too old to bear the tool?
Just concentrate on your work for now.

Sweet kiss of love
in midst of night
And breath that almost
isn't there
Deepest shadows come
before morning light
Oh, teach those silver lies for me.

Our needles straight
Our scissors sharp
Nothing cuts better
than our tool
Such a childish dreams
you have poor fool
Oh, what a grand dress it will be.

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