My fingers are thrones
Thorns where the roots clog
Perfectly formless
Clasping a bamboo prison
A sad majesty
In a subatomic red caress
In a calligraphy of skin
Vespers and incense
Howling through our lungs
Like a lascivious meridian
When soft the holy water fell
Except it didn't
A mardi gras of lament
Sixteen hands high
Fifteen coins tall
Sixteen hands high
Fifteen coins tall
For the watchers at the palace
At the tiger mandible banquet
A wreath in the gloaming
Lies like birds swarm
A sad majesty
In a subatomic red caress
In a calligraphy of skin
From their mouths
"O' Jerusalem
We remain unuttered"
But their cries
Mote the mountains groaning
And we carry a pallbearer's gloom
For all the saints in the sun can't save us now...