The Pyre - Lyrics

dense grapple,
sticking to my teeth,
"here's to the hill on the chapel,
wedding gowns, scaffold,
flowers for the pyre."

we play our love
on victory,
so what?
hung by the sword,
the funeral's a fire.

Ah, the meadow is burning.
Oh no, the people skipping,
dashing
to the silver beat
of the moon,
mo-oo-oon. mooooon. moon by the night on the river of the fire.

taste your lips,
are they not salty?
after the fact,
smooth cannibal,
spit on the mouth
of a black lambed wolf.

you have no hands for me,
your virtue does me no good,
takes my pleasures,
for the thrill of pain.
count my measure,
with the cupid flame.

Pull me, black nausea,
i'm ok,
send me flowers,
on our wedding day.