Choir of Cicadas - Poets Of The Fall

It's the season of dust trailing old pick up trucks

Seashells washed ashore down by the docks

So baby pull on your blue jeans turn the radio loud

Don't wait for the hour to give birth to doubt

In the peak harvest of snakebites and wasted hindsight

When trivial truths sit next to the taillights

When fenders of chrome they rattle and hum

All carved in the shape of freedom

Those flea market stalls in the bone dry noon

Despite pretty signs, look cursed and marooned

And trumpet notes wailing from the candy store

Like a work of art of uneasy rapport

The wreckage, the blunder, the tarot read

In the heat blurry air we're down in the field

Where to the choir of cicadas' jubilee

Among the clouds we once fell asleep

The sirens of the shipyard by those derelict whales

Old mothers singing rusty old tales

Like revving engines keening sky high

Yet theirs is never a war cry

So I'll be your lover now, brazen and bright

Like the flare of a match you struck in the night

Though what does a stray know 'bout holy and true

But I'll always come to your rescue

Oh lord won't you hear your children cry

Singing their praise and their hallelujahs

I have no more words to describe

An empty sky of hollow blue, yeah

So where is my lover, my firelight

The line on the edge of truth and rumour

We took our vows in the heart of the night

We were brazen and bright, when we were brazen and bright