Black holes in the sand in the small hours i realise what i have done in the small hours i realise what i have done i held the hand that threw the stone that killed the bird that woke the city i held the hand that threw the stone that killed the bird that woke the city and i could not feel the flower in my hand i could not feel the cracks beneath my feet and black holes in the sand

Flowers in her hair she wore flowers in her hair and all the town would stare and all the young girls followed picking up the petals strewn everywhere and when the flowers died they saw through the disguise and all the townsfolk circled her with prayers and tar and feathers and fire there's a dog loose in the woods a fox tied to a tree and when the farmer raises his gun the bullets pass right through me and everyone you know will be crawling through the snow at the four furthest corners of town where they buried my bones

Still water buried in the sand an ancient talisman touched by a thousand hands in violence uncharted waters call to the desert's inner soil but lead us to a wall of silence and as i lie among the stones, carvings and bones the still waters run deep buried in the sand an ancient talisman touched by a thousand hands in violence this monument to greed we are cowering beneath is crushing everything we fought for and as i lie among the stones, carvings and bones the still waters run deep

Winter moon we sit in warm rooms outside the winter moon shines down on a frozen field far beyond the edge of town furrows ploughed hard as mountains we sit in warm rooms outside the winter moon shines down through branches of needle trees rake the black sky like leaves and the stars are silent and in our rooms beside the fire we talk ignoring all of the dramas played outside and in our rooms beside the fire we drink unaware of all nature's forces in our lives