A Band Of Buriers - F.Breavman | Текст песни

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• A Band Of Buriers
• F.Breavman

We woke bound to an ancient horse
which galloped off towards a war
that men had lost their reasons for
before the first wife wept

My sister’s neck is made from stone
and pretty charcoal feathers grow
die then float down
lazily coiling as if ash

My father’s hands both hard and soft
carved from marble in a loft
once lost atop a tower
found now lost again for good

And who’d have thought my brother
my little friend and foe
could float along the currents of the streams in between my
dead hair and soul

My mother she’s a scratch in wood
upon the mantle where once stood
above the burning hearth
half an old horseshoe

And who could be this wispy shade
in and out the wavy frame?
We strain to see
but rarely do we succeed

Girls gather up the guns
the boys they’ve already gone
high up the hills
to shoot and try and kill your moon


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