Bitter fields we bled on, slept then fled on,
sixty-thousand leaves on frilly beds we killed on
spinning sightless, eyes like seashells crumble, cave of
vapored honey, glow of water
brothers bathed in borrowed sheets we alived lived in till
we'd give in ruby-filled honey.
Fleur-de-luce. All my lovely goners.
Fleur-de-luce. All my lovely goners.
Muddy path through birch trees,
back is aching, bending, pounding blue heart.
Running faster skyward wending,
stopping looking up and stinging eyelids,
weeping sky descends in colors
o'er the dome of sleeping.
Fleur-de-luce
all my lovely goners.
Fleur-de-luce
all my lovely goners.
Hang the harps on trees again.
The blood is mingled with the rain.
Hang the harps on trees again.
The blood is mingled with the rain.
Fleur-De-Luce (Fleur-De-Luce),
All my lovely goners.
Fleur-De-Luce, (Fleur-De-Luce)
All my lovely goners.
Fleur-De-Luce, (Fleur-De-Luce)
All my lovely goners.