Feel the ancient sound
with a feathered pulse
The aged thrush
bound to death's dark wing
Silently it asks
"Do we need joy?"
It's nothing more
than shame and loss
Morning choir sings
to warm the hearts
of crueler beings
as they take my wings
Thrush and WakeFeel the ancient sound with a feathered pulse The aged thrush bound to death's dark wing Silently it asks "Do we need joy?" It's nothing more than shame and loss Morning choir sings to warm the hearts of crueler beings as they take my wings |