i can hear the owl
[???] stunted hands
hissing quite slow
across the frigid snows
and pictures of time
in an old woman's eye
her hair is made of wood
and the moon beneath her feet
barely awake on your snowy wings
this having stained [?] your angel's hands
with my bloody hands
your chest chills still haunt
the cells of my blood
and mingling stem frames
are bold celluloid
to perch in the trees
and ram chimney tops
to burn away quite gradual
as wet morning fog
barely awake on your snowy wings
this having stained [?] your angel's hands
with my bloody hands
(x3)