my kappa roots - 11. the dour festival lyrics
the whole village is sleeping
in some hushed lullaby
from the faltered steps of dreaming
speechless sounds arise
the crooked tide is restless
and l!cks at her salted lips
and purrs in the harbor
uncurls in the morning sun
the sighed song of the living
is unveiled from every doorway
and perched upon the breeze
to be carried across the sea
and is settled in every bough of every tree
amidst thеir bludgeoning rocks
and the siren strеams
and in the weathered stones of the graves
or wherever you shall lay
or wherever we shall lay
or wherever we shall lay
and the old dancers
the barge bodied ladies
who careen by and whisper i’ll never be young again
and the drowned sailors
who sneer into their mugs
in pining call for another round of vitriol
(at this dour festival)
and the moon’s young daughters
faces painted neon white
with flesh revealed
pant and crawl into the night
and the clay cracked poets who’s liver spotted anecdotes
are bandied round and who are crushed by old desires
(at this dour festival)
and we young hunched pack rats (?)
we laughed in the face of the stars
aware they were jealous of our youth
and now we lay at the roadside
sun drenched and forgotten about
at this dour festival
(at this dour festival)
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