They return to their Earth
For Christine

When serpents come
They cover the Christ thorn
Two heads and cock heads
Serpents feet of emotion
Lidded eyes and smudged reality
Everything has two faces
One is earthly without true form
The other blackened and blackening

And mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields

You know well its tortured form
It's locked within a particular place
It's locked within a particular form
It's jailed by a falling light
With angles, shapes, and size
It's held by to what
It's held in through place
It's an aim that has no name

And mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
It's a form creating formless
Formless creating form
Oh, four towers reaping backwards
Do not spell their sound
Do not move to their lies
Speak the words and they create the universe
And they destroy all universe

And mother sleeps in the fields
Father. he reaps in the fields!

Heavy-lidded eyes do not mask his pain
Hey shade us from the burning light
Listen; one face, one form, one truth
I see it through the shading glass
I see it fractured in the world
This is not true
It's appearance only

And mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields

An eagle flies above the skies
Behind bloody claws; behind bloody cause
His pain is blackened rain
His rain is Roman
Sire, the pain, it is not finished
It happens now
Matchstick man in a matchstick world
Make the prime slice the sickle
Make the sickle slice the core
Time stops when he was thirty-three
And mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields

Time stops when I am thirty
Time stops there and time stops then
Then is now
Oh, why do we not see it?
Time stops, time breaks, time folds
Time ceases; the pestle grinds the mortar
The mortar turns to dust
The metal turns to rust
Words, they fail, they fall apart
The corn, it dies and is reborn!

And mother stays in the fields
Father is in the fields

Blonde hair moves in the blonde corn
Boyd wears black, he talks of death
But all his faces spell out light
Michael's on the roof
He's kissing a rose
A blood drops come from the heart of her life
Something hangs above there in the skies
Something hovers above his brown hair
Life alas, in the background of light
And the birds don't sing
When the curtain snaps
Anita's in Ireland
She's falling over rocks
Stars of the sky, stars of the pain
And all stars meet in a falling star
And some make money from weapons' blood
And some make money from fear's blood
And some make money from hunger's blood
And some make money from politics' blood
And some make money from religion's blood
The world falls apart
The world starts to cease
And mother is in the fields
Father has died in the fields