Once I held mountain in my hands
But they turned to mountains of ash
Fell through my fingers like sand
Like an empire of dust
Blown away are the ghosts of lust
Blown to seed another field
Thrown out to birds the bone meal
Field of fish heads
Turning tail
Running through the burning hail
Stones are thrown, the first to cast
Will be the one who laughs the last
And crows count the merry pipers
Walking home on country roads
Reddening their apple vipers
For their wives to fill their calves
Spilling all the beans in saucers
Breaking bread with the cat
Whose nine tails like the vipers
Whip the cream until its flat
Down the road to elements
The natural gases heaven sent
But omnibuses carry on
As octopuses carry guns
And none stops a floating thief
As the moon rides the tide's relief
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