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lirik lagu shadows – penny rimbaud & youth

and from those shadows
such pampered joys are spread
that here i might reach out and touch

and in your eyes
all time and no time
how then can i but love?

and then comes mist
and the mountaintops are no more
and above that, a cry from the wilderness
which is the wind and scrambled scree
untouchable, yet so whole

i reach out for your br**sts
but they are rock*worn by our passing
you gasp at my coldness
but it is the black crow that i see rising
into those heights
this even the shaking
the obscenity of refusal
and if i fathom this
then i too am these heights
which also are depths
for that is my soul
that in my waking even before the sorrow
sleep describing a lost tomorrow
and when i see the hunter hunt
i am the hunter
yet when the hunter’s spear be blunted
i too am blunt, dumb, blunt*mouthed blunted

so then, i turn from this perch upon the crag
and see the abyss
see the undone and the not
and reason veils the absurd
and masks the belly
which i have stroked and sea*bathed
which thrills to the sombre, dark streams of madness
for that is the blood
i will take nothing else in my forgetfulness
we have been, and that is enough

oh, no punishment in this
our reprimand
nor even subtle warning
the puritan brothers are shipped away
cursed and erased

the grove drips green
and the mossy mound is soft in its calling
yet what if i hear not the whisper
what if that is my falling?
and when i see the hunter hunt
i am the hunter hunted

and here i raze the terrace
where once i gathered grape
and here i juggle huge boulders
which otherwise are weight
this the sacrifice of innocence
which is the daily sacrifice of innocence
which is the bind and the gag
the selfish, self*confirming face of conformity

is then the ocean reckless
in that it contains, consumes, subsumes?
oh, devour this light and this dark
you run before me and bow in grace
and when i see the hunters hunt
i see the hunter’s face
but if i am the hunter
who weaves time and cannot wait
i then am both hunter and hunted
beyond the garden gate

the knife be sharp
the knife be blunted
yet still i strike
bold that you have retreated

- penny rimbaud youth

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