Four and twenty black birds flying in the sky.
Trying to remember if I will see them again and why?
The birds begin to sing to a silvery Sun.
Splayed fingers spill unto the ground to hold us up, and to hold us down.

If leaves were tongues, they would tell you a secret.
If leaves were tongues, they would fall down on your lips.
If leaves were tongues, they would take you into their mouth, and spit you out.

All the Gods and Monsters, Man puts them in his pocket.
Nothing told him to do it, and nothing will stop it.
Necks ribboned in red, eyes blinded in black.
Hold my hand as we walk into the place, the place we're not coming back.

If leaves were tongues, they would tell you a secret.
If leaves were tongues, they would fall down on your lips.
If leaves were tongues, they would take you into their mouth, and spit you out.