by Nick Gisburne
As the bird of conspiracy sings
She is haunted by rhythmical strings
But the oracle tells
Of impossible bells
In the gardens of innocent kings
Lonely children with desolate eyes
Light the beacons of dust with their sighs
Only reason rings true
But the echoes we grew
Shade the evergreen glow of the skies
There are castles of cinnamon clover
And their riddles bring rage to the rover
In the darkness of time
See them coil as they climb
For their nightmares will never be over
From the annals of wandering whales
Are subtracted unusual tales
Such an intricate catch
Lures of light are no match
For they whisper with snow in their sails
Swirling armies draw stars in the smoke
In their battles to pray and provoke
Understanding the seed
May empower its creed
To enlighten, yet never uncloak
She begins her illegible signs
With a cobweb of damaging lines
But a scandalous flow
Blows them woefully low
Till the spiders entangle their spines
In the spark of a unicorn’s eye
Long before there were starfish to cry
Only dance filled the trees
But the tangerine seas
Sang of sorrowful seasons gone by
If your vision is fearsome and free
Tell me, why do you wander with me?
Do you struggle to stray
On this dangerous day?
Are you lost in my deadly debris?
From the shadows, where nightingales die
To the fields of the fever we fly
Cloaked in spiralling steam
We are lords of the dream
Come to shatter the shivering sky
Seven circles envelop the dawn
As the child of illusion is born
But the mothers must weep
For the scarlet runs deep
When the sunset bleeds over the corn
