Caught when I was still a child By a terrible vision of my Christ And caught in the throat by your signs and tears and goodbyes I picked me up And walked too far With thought of no return And not to see your face again and drowning all my hopes And wishing no longer upon stars Believing No longer in moonlight Or other dreams or other fields Upon all of which we so beautifully play I saw a waste of all And so I put away All talk of death's heads And a little glimpse is a bloodblossomed force And all talk of apocalypse Apocraphon and Apollyon Abaddon All abandoned Then I saw in myself the bowl and a gun And the glory that was to come
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