Turn the Bells
The market-place has nothing to sellLeft alone it's awnings shiverWind whistles through the woodFish teeth snapping in a river
Peaks puncture the skyLike a child's icy toesDipped in a streamThat a few of us knowAnd the clouds just a ripple?A shock from the impact?
Shadows on the streetsLook like veils at morningIce blots in the stone cracksWhere tears must have fallen
Oil by the bucket feeds flares to the heavensOffering of incense, small bills and lemonsDrumbeats in the cavesAnd heartbeats in the hutsProtectors unveiled for the first time in months
You find some best friendsWe'll hold each otherAnd I'll turn the bellsI'll turn the bells
The storm clouds pass and everything's for saleThe chattering of rapids, and the bartering of sunsetBeads crunch like bonesThrough fingers and knucklesPoor hands pick cheap quartzIn the quarries and cliff-edge
A group of sandalwood treesWith clotted blood coloured barkCandle-lit teethHalf-moon smiles in the dark
The biker gangs smokingOn the edge of the lakeThe smoke like white horsesA white-eyed mistake
There's spirits in the waterLike photos in a boxThey're torn by the currentAnd crushed by the rocks
You find some best friendsWe'll hold each otherAnd I'll turn the bellsI'll turn the bells