With one of these knives,
I could cut right through the ceiling.
What's fluffy & white is swelling above me.
I can feel it in my mouth
the fibers that wind and strangle my words and my tongue
and I guess that's why everything just tastes off.
I'm using my hands as a guide.
Were they always so heavy & airy & not quite my own?
I can see in the dark, but I won't tell anyone what I saw.
I think I can unbind myself but I don't know the spell.
I can hear them calling from the other side.
White candles 'round a circle made of salt,
still they whisper "Daughter of the moon."
And on their altar in ink as red as wine,
I saw the page where I had signed.
I can hear them calling from the other side.
Their darkness covers me and all that I can see
Now I don't know peace, they're always with me.
They're always with me.
I can hear them calling from the otherside.
No comments:
Post a Comment