Father, the bird is dead
We have ended
On the rocks beneath
Fading feathers in my hand
Is it time to grow teeth?
Grow teeth
Father, how short’s the flight
Was it just a dream within a dream?
All is said and done and now
All I want is hurt him
Hurt him
Hurt him
Was it your hand, my hand, his hand?
O my goodness
Was it your face, my face, his face in mine?
Is it over before it begins?
Was it his face, my face, your face in his?
Father, the flowers bloomed
Those were really flowers of evil
And we’d meet by the cemetery gate
Not the gates of Eden
Father, the fruit was sweet
It was cursed and rotten to the core
And we fell softly in the arms of sleep
Just to wake up naked
Naked and sore
Was it your hand, my hand, his hand?
O my goodness
Was it your face, my face, his face in mine?
Is it over before it begins?
Was it his face, my face, your face in his?
You
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