Honey Combed

I can feel the mystery But I can't play it Grey as the children are grey My thoughts are grim, polluted as I am Walking out one summer noon So soon How will the weather bring Sing like the children have sung High as the stars are hung I vanish before I go I have written with a rope Wrapped around my throat Loomed like an island Dope hooked and cycloned Honey-combed my heart in love And from above Every cemetery Against the bloom Rattle the pigs, visit the silence Waking up an open wound I can feel the mystery But I can't play it Grey as the children are grey My thoughts are dim, polluted as I am Walking out one summer noon