Compass

Sandwiched between regret and some kind of love
Where the layered leaves of autumn fall
The damp stars all glide over such a mouldy moon
And our ships were christened by the naked man- called Salvation
Our Wisdom was king and we heard the sirens string section
Yet we did not know where we could go that day
We just merely sat there with frozen limbs and fortune was plagued by Nemesis
Who could we seek underneath that mouldy moon
Who would paint us as we sacrificed that which we held excellent and new
Between that which we chased and that which we could not believe in
The arrows within our compasses all pointed upward against our pockets
And the string section was played backwards as the soft skin changed colour in the heat and light
But the rules had been written by Salvation and the granite had been carved
The dreams had been lost to night and no one could remember
The knives were as silent as the saints, the angels were loud as they fell to the water
As they rolled in their sleep between the ground and the autumn leaves
Who is the loneliest and where do they go for warmth?
Who is the holiest and how do they live with no string section?
No compass to guide them, to change direction against the soft cloth
Moons all crumble and stars all glide
The air is left for the fools to breathe beside that for men who are saved
We reached the land of obscenity and realised the mountain's crest was our purpose
We bowed before it in our mortality
We invoked the name of men and gods- some we should not have invoked
Yet we stood before that crest as the gravel slid and rolled towards us
The water sprung from the ground all hot and black
It was part of an underground system that was built by the boys of Rome
No one but the sleeping angels remembered the original colour
We scrutinised the coolness and the silence until our minds grew bright
Until all people believed we would not answer their calls
Until we were believed dead by the saints who, with hammers, destroyed church and grave
And great horses carried themselves through groves of vine and chestnut tree
Tears fell from the young men's faces who stood beside the black water
Salvation would perhaps be theirs! the Press would be there to witness it
The trains would come to take them to heaven
Yet the trains were not baptised by salvation they left one land and passed the borders to the next
Like a crow stealing eggs and flying from one tree to another
And we lay with each other for that night
Under that black sky, beside that black mountain
Upon sliding gravel with the howling of bastard shepherds crying out as they counted their gold
As they built and then burnt mansions upon the foot hills
We were on the edge of our fates
We were the belief system of those who were broken and made under a mouldy moon and gliding stars
We had each other for warmth and for direction
It is necessary for me to record all of the above as a true statement of those who I know
For I know them less then I thought I knew myself
This is suspicious and now I hold no power, I am as empty as Alexander
Bring in the Soldiers and let them walk past my bed one by one