lyrics
Well, well, let’s get on with it . . .
Here are the roots that clutch,
The nerves that twist, sear, across the pavement
To the glitter and the glory:
To a sea of fools!
That summer’s dream of glory, skin shed to cracked and bleeding lips.
Wondering what I was.
A day remembered from sleep first wakened.
In this noise, born! In the alleys that we dignify as streets:
The city’s strains, dysphoric and plain,
Detuned through failing speakers,
Are hymns to keep the meter,
A fevered echo to serve as the refrain:
For the last time we are hearing of defeat.
The silence save where silence yields.
Still shake the roofless temples
Now is the pleasant time,
There go the bells again!
Their songs, lost to me,
(Too late to reason now)
And rattle the street signs we use to notate the meaning of our days.
In this noise, born! In the alleys that we dignify as streets:
The city’s strains, dysphoric and plain,
Detuned through failing speakers.
A fevered echo to serve as the refrain:
For the last time we are hearing of defeat
A hymn to keep the meter,
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