Seventy-Four, Seventy-Five

Seventy-four. Seventy-five. He's getting used to it now,

how each one falls away in that hoary light. and they are

gone, gone frome the age, gone from the guards and their

hands. It's no different today than in years gone by. But

he won't come out tonight, with his hands so thin and

white…

Gone. Gone from the page, and then he is gone from your

eyes, as that splintering wave takes so many lives. And

now your hands are gripping the edge of such a waste,

where every angel looks dead, every face a lie. But you

won't come out tonight, with your hands so thin and

white, alive…

Seventy-four, seventy-five,

Daddy, come back to me now–

I would beat them away

I would pulled you out

I would wash all the cinders from your eyes

And with silver and gold

I would adorn you

Let it all come out tonight, when they pull you out

alive.

Alive