one foot to the trail
one ear to the tone
the flame is alive
and the raven has flown

what does not kill may yet make a man strong
but longer I linger I ponder the finger
that presses to lips at the start of the song
then curls back to the palm at the death of the singer

and i am the nail
and i am the bone
the one in the five
that cannot move alone

kings alabaster cast plaster to eyes
in thunderous rock they seed seismic disasters
one wonders why watchers get fooled by disguise
then remembers the embers all yearn to burn faster

and i am the pale
and i am the stone
the last bee in the hive
the last son on the throne

laughter's the trickle of pricks in the leather
whenever if ever I see through the thick
of the soul so sun sickened by warm winter weather
when the last melted men burn both ends of the wick

and i am their wail
and i am their moan
i turn as they die
in the world that i've known