The Moon is Mourning

Back in yellow fields

Carrying the center like dribble before

An alchemy of feeling could erupt

Shaped across conversations with the witch

Called to burn with the heretic that is your skin;

Across the panorama of her fingers

Turning paint into flowers

Rubbing smiles into wounds

Can’t make it last long enough

Because what we saw is forgotten

And there’s no way to find or feel

Our way out of rabbit holes

Back in yellow fields

Once more flesh in lease

With a song-less pulse stepping crooked along your heart;

A dying star in its stead bred their tapestry

No one can say how much we hurt

In pleads with the sun we give away

Graceful violent thrill

Burn every wall in the ocean,

Scorch the sun with your disguise discriminate 

Organic second-guessing in the system

Looking back at it they never know to fear 

Your case folding into tears

Buried deep inside the devils monastery

Back in  yellow fields

We drag those left to rot and decay

And nurture them like our bastard moon

A scope given the sun