Amongst The Nomads

And to sharpen my claws
Is to ask of my thorns
To grow out of me, inside
And sew me to the ground.

Static and wooden eyed
I worry very well.
How all around
Is breathing death.

I will weave my towers high
And all of us, we’ll climb
Setting forth, from now on
Disappear into the wild.

But by the time
We’ll reach the sea.
The sand will get us
Above our knees.

Though our eyes did not see clear.
And our mouths could not speak free
We became aware
Of the crosses that we share.

We used to stand so tall
We used to speak for all
We used to walk in line
Further and further and further
Sailing on bad tide.