My fingers are thrones
Thorns where the roots clog
Perfectly formless
Clasping a bamboo prison

A sad majesty
In a subatomic red caress
In a calligraphy of skin

Vespers and incense
Howling through our lungs
Like a lascivious meridian
When soft the holy water fell

Except it didn't
A mardi gras of lament
Sixteen hands high
Fifteen coins tall
Sixteen hands high
Fifteen coins tall

For the watchers at the palace
At the tiger mandible banquet
A wreath in the gloaming
Lies like birds swarm

A sad majesty
In a subatomic red caress
In a calligraphy of skin

From their mouths
"o' jerusalem
We remain unuttered"

But their cries
Mote the mountains groaning
And we carry a pallbearer's gloom

For all the saints in the sun can't save us now...