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