Verse
Fires of the lighthouse burning in the bay
Waters of the sound sleeping through the day
Ostrich of the night half buried in the sand
Nearer comes the man, sickle in his hand
Battles in the back seat, soap box car
Black-bolt lightning car I don't care who you are
Fires of the lighthouse, sound of the guitar
? regard
Death where is thy sting? In the trails of
Sunfish sails and curve stitch string?
Black mass ghosts of half-chewed hosts
Off the Henlopen coast in the saltwater spring
You arrive washed up in the tide Normally alive
with your consolation boots of Spanish inquisition eyes
Prancing around the stage at your advancing age
Offering stale communion to the presbyters of time?
Verse
Is it too much to ask to reproduce the past?
Stories of the ice boat wreck kept us warm
Sheltered from storm on the ocean floor
And in the morning, we rest in Corinthian headdress
On couches of ivory
And wake in the moonlight Like badgers at midnight
To friends made in factories somewhere
(louder)
You'll know where to find us, our best years behind us
'Our joy was electric, our circles concentric '
Converging on statues of permanence
Death where is thy sting?
You ought to put more thought into what you bravely sing
Aft-mast ships of straw-short bricks
You'll soon see exactly where my victory is
The spring to its slumber Your lighthouses black
Like virginal slumber I'll break like the lap
Of your Delaware shore Your Blue Hen remains
Will dissolve at my door Like a teaspoon of salt in the rain
And I'll wrap up your absence
And comfort your family With words like eternity
And friends made in factories somewhere