How can you pine anymore?
|
It is beautiful
|
and for all
|
unavoidable
|
|
so these are his bones
|
and his grinning skull
|
so now he is home
|
to the bluebottles
|
|
he who was your bull
|
and made the shadows run
|
|
and I understand
|
In all things he was quite the man
|
|
but now perched on his skull
|
he now wears cuckold's horns
|
and they're growing full
|
pushing through the soil
|
|
pools gathering round my knees
|
temptation leers at me from every door
|
|
so these are his bones
|
why won't you leave them alone?
|
|
worms crowding her feet
|
trying to pull me back to their holes
|
tap-tapping in the room below
|
nothing more than dead piles of bones
|
|
saying:
|
"I'll eat this young whelp's heart I will"
|
"I'll eat this young whelp's heart I will"
|
"I'll eat this young whelp's heart"
|
|
HEAVE-HO
|
HEAVE-HO
|
|
with fists for spades we raid his grave
|
with big black boots we stomp the roots
|
with fists for spades we raid his grave
|
with big black boots we stomp the roots
|
|
and HEAVE-HO
|
HEAVE-HO
|
HEAVE-HO
|
HEAVE-HO
|
|
HEAVE-HO
|
|
-----------------
|
His Grinning Skull
|
| Wild Beasts |
