A rusted coil embedded in the lawn A twisted strand that drags the seasons on The spade strikes iron seven inches down Beneath the manicured turf of the town No tissue mended, no incision cured Merely the puncture silently endured Grown tight around it like an oak on wire Smothering the embers of an older fire Treating the marrow like a thistle in the clay Chipping at the timber as the sap recedes away Salting the furrow where the tendrils start Punishing the vessel for the fracture in the heart A Lifetime Stranded On The Margin Of The Flaw Gnawed By The Tetanus And Cut Into The Raw Zero Absolution, Zero Balancing The Debt Just A Rusted Tangle In The Floorboards Left ...The barbed wire vein is a vine....a weed in soil....waiting on cue... ...That's what dreams are made of, Arthur, that's what dreams are made of... The seasons turn, the tension never slacks Snagging every impulse on the barbed tracks They claim that distance acts to soothe and rinse Draining all the venom from the consequence They lie for comfort, and they lie for grace Nothing ever washes from the inner space It grips the sinew, anchors in the bone A patient squatter ruling on a throne Treating the marrow like a thistle in the clay Chipping at the timber as the sap recedes away Salting the furrow where the tendrils start Punishing the vessel for the fracture in the heart A Lifetime Stranded On The Margin Of The Flaw Gnawed By The Tetanus And Cut Into The Raw Zero Absolution, Zero Balancing The Debt Just A Rusted Tangle In The Floorboards Left ...The barbed wire vein is a vine....a weed in soil....waiting on cue... ...That's what dreams are made of, Arthur, that's what dreams are made of... Refusal to heal. Refusal to mend. Driving the iron point straight to the end. No reconciliation. No candle in the nave. Merely the knot in the timber that we gave. Sever the runner. Pull up the root. Crushing the bramble with the heel of the boot. A Lifetime Stranded On The Margin Of The Flaw Gnawed By The Tetanus And Cut Into The Raw Zero Absolution, Zero Balancing The Debt Just A Rusted Tangle In The Floorboards Left ...The barbed wire vein is a vine....a weed in soil....waiting on cue... ...That's what dreams are made of, Arthur, that's what dreams are made of... Barbed wire in the vein... Nothing moved on... Trip the quiet catch... Zero dreams tonight.
