Strange Birds

Camphor, rose, and vinegar
They fill my nose as I confer with
Soon-departed passengers to
Far imagined shores

Though I see through lensed eyes
I cannot help but recognize the
Neighbors' faces so alive
A week or two before

Strange birds circling the city
But there is no song that follows in our wake
Strange birds waiting at the threshold
Tapping on the floor
For it is counting day

I measure with my wooden rod
The distance from your bed to God
And if I must defend myself
It's sure to leave a marking

When by night I lose my mask
I swim inside a crimson flask
But silence sings a bitter tune when
Memory is lurking

Strange birds circling the city
But there is no song that follows in our wake
Strange birds waiting at the threshold
Tapping on the floor
For it is counting day

My fingers into talons grow
The fat of cattle lines my coat
I whisper through the alleyway
As I approach your door

So fill your house with spiders and
You must inhale bottled wind
And I will pay a call again
In case you are no more



Credits
Writer(s): Django Haskins
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

Link