and a pot belly laugh
with a sweet taste of mustard
shall ride the plough of land of sea
three miles afar
at god\'s own speed
and pay no heed more glorious than death.
the fat of the land
the water and the bible
three brides of equal temperament
each with steady hands
will sow each seed
and pay no heed more glorious that death.
in this dour age of concrete steel and rage
under a saltmarsh sky
each wound now packed with glycerine and soil
for all who shall remain
taller than a scaffold to the stars
bring praise for the naked warriors retreat.
and he who has no soul
no eyes to see the glow worm as it sparks
their bed of grapes for the water and the heart
the flood of spring
married to the drowning calf
to walk no more the red clay of his love.
and he who has no mothers milk
will drink again the waters of the heart
while the meadows, caged and quarantined
all blood is theirs
too many sounded things
to walk no more the red clay of his love.
at gods own speed
we pay no heed more glorious than death;