Rattled chime, slow ringing echo

Roll around in virus meadow

Suck enchanted nightshade twine

Hear the bells beneath us chime



Sinking sermon, priest head murmurs

Holy words across the meadows

Kissed the plagues' black rolling hand

Through his lips the virus sang



And the rooks, they seemed to follow him

Wherever he goes

Flapping in the flat sky

Shrieking in the spire

Hanging from the lead sky

Dangling from the sun

The rooks, they seemed to follow him

Wherever he goes



Nodding thistle, english sun dew

Swansneck woman, child-bed meadow

Aching shoulders sink and grow

As the bells from ditches toll



And the smeared skin wrapped limbs

Of the night brothers

Struggling.... crawling

Through the empty crack of morning

Of the night brothers...

Of the night brothers....





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If you find some major mistakes, or simply wanna chat with

a licensed die-hard Trees-head, just mail me.....



Slow Pulse Ulisse