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Them Bird Things
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Bliss
Scarlet sky in morning
take warning
You're a rhyme in frost
tied in knots
I'm a tear in paper,
a letter lost
I haul my heart on a sledge down to town
and set it on edge with a scowl and a frown
embracing my pain in the wake of fate
Our dreams were dashed,
swept away
the day that you drowned
no trace was found
and still I stalk
the widow's walk
graves to your left and graves to your right
mother Mary and Eddie, baby Jane and dad
two score and a year as the end draws near
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Home is the hunter from hill
and sailor from the sea,
oh, it was the good Lord's will
now let the poor boy be
so I descend
from Foster Hill
into the valley
past Pig's Alley
to a stone in the grass though no
body below
now that the chill wind which comes from the east
has turned into birdsong and a warm summer breeze
let us cross the river and rest under the trees
Home is the hunter from hill
and sailor from the sea,
oh, it was the good Lord's will
now let the poor boy be
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