A Setting Sun - Grand Archives

We won’t need twenty steps today

The gallery it swims away

In Monday shoes

It’s awful tempting, might black

The way the words run down your back

Beneath the gentle sway of paper lantern moons

Could you be quick or be

Could you be quick or be tired

The tock, the tick of it

Atop the funeral pyre

We’re in the thick of it

So bite the brick of it all

We gnaw through limbs to extricate ourselves

From where we stand and where we fell

When we don’t know how

To sidsetep when tiny guns

Have made their way through the best of us

Beneath the gentle sway of paper latern moons

Could you be quick or be

Could you be quick or be tired

The tock, the tick of it

Atop the funeral pyre

We’re in the thick of it

So bite the brick of it all

Your tithing teeth have never sung

A fitting tune for a setting sun

I know your ghost is somewhere good

We haven’t seen and we’ll never know

Where summer sleeps and the springtime goes

We only hope it’s somewhere good