Tanks Of Flies

(and) I had the verbal touch

The silver sliver of nexus

Carved from the bloody water

First-poured

Form drowning

Pulling down the moons and suns

From the thighs of the queen

Of grace and grinding

The bump, the bribe, the breasts

Made me slyly arise

In clouds of candy

And tanks of flies

(Sounded out the blind

Greet the deaf

With Calvary's cavalry

Thundering from on high

And catching lambs with nooses

I was watching the dread that crept up on me

Whilst I was cheaply sleeping

Cheaply singing as the birds

Die over France

There are four hills, and all say

I HAVE COME TO DRAW YOU TO ME

I HAVE COME TO DRAW YOU TO ME

I HAVE COME TO CALL YOU TO ME

I HAVE COME TO DRAW YOU TO ME