(Sweet things are sure to follow)
There it is again,
that crackling sound
all hazy in the distance
a lost language living in the
dissonance
of a broken record from a
long-lost archive
buried beneath the wholesome melody.
A voice that sings in subdued harmony
accompanied by river-troubled blues
and booze
lingers delicately
on every muttered syllable.
I sing a song of sorrow
hoping that my tomorrow
matures the seed from yesterday,
sweet things are sure to follow
Sweet things are sure to follow,
sweet things are sure to follow,
look after seeds from yesterday and
sweet things are sure to follow.
Once again
that crackling sound
all hazy in the distance,
burns blade and bone
to ash and incense
drifting on the wind
embedded there within a
chorus rejoicing pure and free-
that lost language
living in the dissonance
buried beneath the wholesome melody.
Comentários