There's an angry carpenter building a table without any legs a mother teaching her Children to fetch, sit up, and beg The dogs of night make a prayer for the lady without any hands as she applauds the one-legged preacher who left his parts in old Viet Nam The little drug angel darlings stare into the guns of the raid and the Children under the table, bless their hearts... Esplanade You will never know where i'm going until your feet taste paths i have been a tear and a cup overflowing, sins of the lost captain's men i wonder if i might find purchase, a brick or a ring in the wall a coffin to hang on for ever, to hear the great sparrow's call There's a chorus of blind singing patriots flying a song without wings They may lose their direction; they will never forget how to sing She is an opening flower, a path for the living parade Lay down in her soft bed of roses and bleed... ah, sweet Esplanade May be the Gods do not see them; may be the God's eyes are blind There is no end to their praying for surely the Gods must be kind And they hide away from the madman who tells them they are betrayed He waits for the full Moon to take him, then he howls, howls... Esplanade Dead poets speak through their silence; they whisper "Return never more" A Child looks in the mirror, wonders, 'Why in hell was i born' Some one has slain all his warriors, tortured the king of his soul Mother and father are preying in the bar room for pots of his gold Life is the constant reminder; death is the warrior who waits Fate owns the face in the mirror, the key to the lock on her gate So have you noticed her freedom, the laughter behind all her lies where chaos and order go dancing and only chaos survives i walked the shores of her oceans, soft and cold and afraid followed the paths of her creatures cross her vast expanse... Esplanade i have tasted the breath of her seasons, her bitter root and sweet wine and though i know she is wounded, i seek her like something divine As i approach her wound i am kissing the blood drops her suffering made my feet caressing her footsteps; my lips whisper... "Sweet Esplanade" She lays her pain out before me, the soft ragged edge of her truth i lick the scent of her fire with the misguided tongue of my youth The scars are written upon me from sleeping too close to the wound Skin so easily broken on this eggshell side of the Moon And the tides are breaking for ever on a sweet violin never played Where only warriors are dancers on the last grass... Esplanade i'm breaking bread with the serpent, making love with the mice There's a game i play with the devil, betting against loaded dice And i die at the end of my prayer; my face breaks the Earth unafraid Your heavy stones on my body; i whisper... "Sweet Esplanade" i have drunk myself into stupid, sung her praises through my whiskey breath for the tender peace of her body, the long-suffering pain of her death i keep a piece of her soul in my pocket and i sleep with her every night i hear the wind through the willows and i kiss her lips when we fight But a beggar has set her on fire for a ransom that will not be paid A thief has stolen her jewels; she suffers it well... Esplanade There is a ghost haunting my castle; she cries, i think i know why Her heart is ten thousand times broken; she tries, they won't let her die So she crawls in my bed of an evening, struggles to keep me awake i find myself reaching for her, hungry for the love we could make Courage lies under the blanket; the windows are dirty inside You cannot see through a mirror, just going along for the ride She is all, she is all that exists, make myself naked and wade Follow her down 'til eternity passes; she is all, she is all... Esplanade All tangled up in my covers, afraid of the dark and the day i wait until she comes to hold me and chase my darkness away Then i lay at her breast like an infant, suckled and cozily warm She covers my seed with the Earth of her body to shelter me from the storm i drink her milk and i bite her, feeding upon her the same i call her triangular mother and know her by no other name With her blood and milk on my muzzle, i cry in the mess i have made She wraps me in flowers and powders my ass; she is all, she is all... Esplanade i live in a box in the attic; measure my space two by two drag myself out for holiday weekends and photograph pictures with you Maybe i'll take you there with me, touch with my hands in the dark Which one is which, i get so damned confused, like a Child playing with cards The best of the time i am rolling in fields of flowers and shade watching the Children as they start their journey into her heart... Esplanade