A Book, A Mind

Beau Navire

Compositor: Não Disponível

The prophet speaks to an audience of the dead
I am your God, he says
The dead they laugh, the dead they cry
From fear that all along that there really was nothing for them
Seething into what’s left in buried books and empty pages
Our hearts will find either meaning or deceit
Burn my eyes, I don’t ever want to see again