When serpents come
They cover the Christ Thorn
Two heads and cock heads
Serpents feed of emotion
Lidded eyes and smudged realities
Everything has two faces
One is earthly without true form
The other blackened and blackening
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
You know well its tortured form
It's locked within a particular place
It's locked within a particular form
It's jailed by a falling light
With angles shapes and sighs
It's held by twowood
It's held by threeplace
It's a name that has no name
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
It's a form creating formless
Formless creating form
Oh, four towers read them backwards
Do not spell their sound
Do not move to their lies
Speak the words
And they create the universe
And
They destroy all universe
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
Heavy-lidded eyes
Do not mask the pain
They shade us from the burning light
Listen: one face one form
One truth one light
I see it through the staining glass
I see it fractured in the world
(This is not true -
It's appearance only)
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
An eagle flies
His bloody face
Behind bloody claws
Behind bloody cause
His pain is blackened rain
His reign is Romanzion pain
It is not finished
It happens now
Matchstick men in a matchstick world
Match the prick with the sickle
Make the sickle slice the corn
Time stops when he was thirty-three
And mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
Time stops when I'm thirty
Time stops then
And time stops there
Then is now
Why do we not see it?
Time stops time breaks time holds
Time ceases
The pestle grinds the mortar
The mortar turns to dust
The metal turns to rust
Words they fail
And they fall apart
The Corn it dies
And is reborn
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
Blond hair moves in the blond corn
Boyd wears black
And he talks of death
But all his face
Spell out light
Michael's on the roof
He's kissing a Rose
Blood drops come
From the heart of her life
Something hangs
Above there in the skies
Something hovers
Above his brown hair
Life la-las
In the background of light
And the birds don't sing
When the curtain snaps
Anita's in Ireland
She's falling over rocks
Scars are for her scarring
Scars are for her pain
And all her scars
Meet in a falling star
And some make money from weapons
Blood
And some make money from hunger
Blood
And some make money from politics
Blood
And some make money from fear
Blood
And some make money from religion
It's blood
The world falls apart
The world starts to cease
And mother is in the fields
Father has died in the fields