Now paint my discoloured reign
Dead. Let it set. Let it
Harden: no artifice yet
Could undarken the day.

Then blacken the mirror
And wish not for freedom;
Though battles rage proud
I am roundly defeated,
And sounds songs and lyrics
All fast give up meaning.

Soon will come morning.
I'll resume what I do as
I do; how I pray for a mirror untrue.

The quarry of art is the artist:
Like some dumb little trap from the army,
Two sticks are piss-easy. There's art in
Two decades done stitching the net.

Soon will come morning
I'll resume what I do as
I do; how I pray for a mirror untrue.

The chances that passed us
The answers that ask us
Why dull seas still cast us
From wreckage to rest?

The hull of our faith
Chips its new sheet of paint
On more pitiful waves
Oh I shudder again

And soon will come morning
I'll resume what I do as
I do; how I pray for a mirror untrue.