Tide Pulls from the Moon - William Fitzsimmons

So like your

Father in the face and blood

Terrified and cold

And whispers

The coming of a cleansing flood

For you

You hide your

Filthy hands from all of us

Still unseen and tied

What water

These killing hands could ever clean

Still you run

I want to be changed from

The shadow and the tomb

Like water rushing over us

The tide pulls from the moon

Your mother

The passing of a silver ring

Over-sized and cold

This specter

Will walk the halls of every seed

From you

I want to be changed from

The shadow and the tomb

Like water rushing over us

The tide pulls from the moon

The tide pulls from the moon

The tide pulls from the moon.