Hope Is A Cinder That Blinks Quietly Until You Die
i will give every devil a better secret to carry along in their lungs (that will hide within their whispers and pierce like little slivers) - the words
that they've been keeping (carved from breath and unwritten letters) - placed with bluebirds in coffins of hard earth that swelter in the
sunlight. i'll draft a silent reply, caught along the summer's stretches, to shake the boughs of trees. i will cross my fingers two by two
and wait for them to answer. trouble, of your heartattacks, let the one to hold the scissors be the last. and the tether of your aching will be stripped to the bare threads
that bind all your children, strung around your neck singing hallelujah, cursing with every breath like swaggering their hips.
all this resemblance shows is the anger of order, a tremble in the lips. lover, take me with you. show me every single nametag that you wore
as you skirted around the tabletops, singing hallelujah underneath your breath, not knowing what it meant. all this resemblance shows
is the anger of order, a tremble in the lips. i can hear you saying, "my children, hold them over me, each one spinning a dandelion". further on the sea swells, like a red heart beating with an anger and a pitch that keeps rolling on, and we are swept out with our eyes
kept to the sun. when fever grips us, our lungs singing drums in our chests, with these feeble, shaking fists we'll compensate our size
and spill like water poured into the sea. but what depths would have us and not heave us skyward? to let us fall as rain and collect
in gutters, in the same place we've always been.
call off the swimmers, all kicking legs in yellow suits, because they won't find nothing here but anxious breathers pushing towards the shore.
and leave us by ourselves, looking like the sea's own children. a siren could pull us overboard, clutching at our chests
like dancers leaning - drunken with these songs - liberated skies and the fleeting feeling that we will be pulled out to settle in the sands
and gaze up blankly, ever at the sky. carry me to the fire and pitch me in. while you're at it, all the things i've been, throw those in as well. and while you're at it why don't
you jump in too, ‘cause hell has a heart and place for everyone. all the high life people and the dregs will be there. they'll be there with
open arms just to welcome us, ’cause hell has a heart and a place for everyone. ‘cause hell has a heart and a place for all its children.
will the fire burn? will it burn off our wings? how long will we be condemned? will we ever find our place? i'll say hell has a heart.
that they've been keeping (carved from breath and unwritten letters) - placed with bluebirds in coffins of hard earth that swelter in the
sunlight. i'll draft a silent reply, caught along the summer's stretches, to shake the boughs of trees. i will cross my fingers two by two
and wait for them to answer. trouble, of your heartattacks, let the one to hold the scissors be the last. and the tether of your aching will be stripped to the bare threads
that bind all your children, strung around your neck singing hallelujah, cursing with every breath like swaggering their hips.
all this resemblance shows is the anger of order, a tremble in the lips. lover, take me with you. show me every single nametag that you wore
as you skirted around the tabletops, singing hallelujah underneath your breath, not knowing what it meant. all this resemblance shows
is the anger of order, a tremble in the lips. i can hear you saying, "my children, hold them over me, each one spinning a dandelion". further on the sea swells, like a red heart beating with an anger and a pitch that keeps rolling on, and we are swept out with our eyes
kept to the sun. when fever grips us, our lungs singing drums in our chests, with these feeble, shaking fists we'll compensate our size
and spill like water poured into the sea. but what depths would have us and not heave us skyward? to let us fall as rain and collect
in gutters, in the same place we've always been.
call off the swimmers, all kicking legs in yellow suits, because they won't find nothing here but anxious breathers pushing towards the shore.
and leave us by ourselves, looking like the sea's own children. a siren could pull us overboard, clutching at our chests
like dancers leaning - drunken with these songs - liberated skies and the fleeting feeling that we will be pulled out to settle in the sands
and gaze up blankly, ever at the sky. carry me to the fire and pitch me in. while you're at it, all the things i've been, throw those in as well. and while you're at it why don't
you jump in too, ‘cause hell has a heart and place for everyone. all the high life people and the dregs will be there. they'll be there with
open arms just to welcome us, ’cause hell has a heart and a place for everyone. ‘cause hell has a heart and a place for all its children.
will the fire burn? will it burn off our wings? how long will we be condemned? will we ever find our place? i'll say hell has a heart.