The weathered eyes
Of the statue cries
At the altar
That you still turn to
As a frail breath sighs
At the guilt ridden lies
That he scribes
With his pen
And begins to write again
A hesitant hand
And a still tongue
Keeps a wise head
But you still long to falter
Still you try to outrun the devil's grasp
As chaos laughs
With uncertain wrath
For he's the king of all
In the tempest and the squall
Whilst ivy clings
To the stubborn walls
Of the village church
Where the blossom falls around you
From an ill wind and a threatening sky
That can't deny or lie
Imply or shy
Away from you
Or the world that you once knew
The undertaker stays reserved
Though in his grin
It shows that
Death pays kindly
While young men sing of lust
And just because
They crave her touch
But like tattooed skin
It's hard to mask your sin
The piper plays ill
A melody
But still you see
What you wish to see regardless
But in welcomed arms
Lay wilting charms
And jealous calm
Which walk hand in hand
Across the tired land
Sheltered by
Small comforts
But in time the storm
Is sure to reach you too
As you contemplate by shadow and pale candlelight
So your secrets might
Remain concealed
But corruption is revealed