The Buried Room

And the sun explodes, as it did before...
...and shadows left again to reveal our soul
We burn as tinder, fly apart like leaves
Girders, twisted spires...
Like hands to heaven...

If dust was gold, we would be kings...

Ten thousand crucified, against a raging sky
With lowly chorus that shakes the ground
We bemoan our woes, as discordant sound

Our hair in clumps, our skin marble grey
Our teeth they loosen... and they fall away

The horizon enraged, from the left to the right
Glowing like the coals, against a cancer sky

(We hold in embrace
Each other to the end
In our buried room
We lie in fitful dream...)