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A Forest Of Stars

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A Forest Of Stars

Drawing Down the Rain

I can hear them ranting.
Like a choir of angels, those cunts.

Not singing nor dancing here;
All eyes down for the casting.
Spell trough scraped dry.

Practising our sincerest sorrows;
All full faced to the grind of stone.

The drag of that inert through toil of chained wrought sinew.
Ragged faces turned up to the rain.
Staring down; drawing down the rain.
Staring down; drawing down the rain.
Drawing down the rain.
Drawing down.

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All our ears are open / all our eyes are smiling
Gracelessly receiving empty threats of heaven.

As grist to and from these dark Satanic mills.
A barren wasteland dreamt through streets of prescription mist.
There is no attenuating this.
No attenuating this.

Holes in the heart of this city.
Holes.

Drawing down the rain.

Heaven calling; calling through sewer-gratings.