I have had enough Ready to meet my maker The sickness has finished me Brought me to my knees I am no longer begging for life Just longing for the sleep When I can spread my wings
On the edge of the horizon Twists the mighty storm It curls it steel grey fingers Around the egg blue sky And comes like boiling water To land its deafening roar Trees are felled like matches
A circlet on your tongue The body of Christ Melts in the heat Of your mouth The blood of your Fathers Son Brought to your lips Small drops of Ruby wine Slip past your chin
He watches a murder of Crows As they gather on the Bell wire Their hooded eyes blinking And thinks of home The scuffed front door Where his fingerprints linger