The Grey

Her care is my discretion

My discretion's rather poor

Those daughters of the first-born sons

With blood upon their door

Grey skies were made for passing

This kiss was made for you

Hold these rings just like a best man

What else is there to do?

I lay down with my mother

To help her better rest

Upturn the old inverted

Like keys beneath the chest

The trees all sing of Paris

And Agnes in the field

Like eyes of lambs and virgins

But she was never healed

Cast out just like an anchor

A princess bred for night

Pull the cross right through the centre

And cherish heaven's light

But I can't give her what I gave her

That would be too cruel

I live now just to save her

Hannah is no fool

Her love is my confession

My confession is my art

Spill secrets through her centre

She regains a beating heart

And I bless this sacred distance

Alone