Remembering how you went far through the red grass Disorientated in the wetlands The mounds of stones, shivering You asked the fertile crescent about the blue flags of the dead The persistent scalding tone of voice That you dance to and forget Blind like bones, it seems you derive from stones Black lights make your eyes run dry Makes you swirl away like dying dogs A greyhound derailment Through muted cheering You ask the fertile crescent, with its outer arm That waves the blue flags of the dead Delinquent and yearning, you groom yourself smaller Like a jaded barbarian Drawn to the funnels of surging departure ...makes your eyes run dry Makes you swirl away into the grey Boisting the blue flags of the dead