Maw - Her Name is Calla

A Pyre’s meant for burning

And that’s just what she’ll do

There was nothing we could

The Mead abets the Maw

And writes its sentence out

There was nothing I could

Fingers fault the loom

Dancers to the blade

There was nothing they could do

A briquette diaphragm

Drawn taught against the breeze

The was nothing you could do