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lyrics

The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.

I moved inside your carapace of blood,
I moved aside your tenderness and love.
There was a near refusal then,
A loss of disapproval, then
A sending of a message from the dove.

The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.

Salome made demands of me for truth,
She hung the drooping carcass from the roof,
A shadow swept across the wall,
A whisper from the weeping call,
She kissed my head, and fell out like a tooth.

The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.

The word was knowledge falling from the sky,
Unspoken in the broken bedside light,
Qawwali sung like honey wine,
A rumble in the diamond mine,
The ribald word you heard when you were five.

The word, the word, the word.

Then five was seven, seals of broken feet,
I watched the flowing streams and fell asleep.
I watched your fingers crystallise,
And watched the water turn to ice.
Then, the word was bubbled underneath.

The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.

And after many days the word renews,
And golden ribbons swim before my view,
Black oil in the marketplace,
Suckled on the herb of grace,
I saw, and then was blind, and then made do.

The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.

Blindness is the sweetest thrill of all,
To stumble naked through ancestral halls,
And only hidden sounds were heard,
The crashing waves upon the word,
Noise and thunder, and bodiless St. Paul.

The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.

From the foothills to the shores of Eritrea,
The scholars drink the leavings of Isaiah,
And vomit back paternalists,
Into the arms of journalists,
And all the cycle turns the wheel of prayer.

The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.

The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.
The word, the word, the word.

credits

from First Bank on the River, released August 22, 2021

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Robert George Saull London, UK

“A future poet laureate” – Exposed Magazine

“Hums with vibrancy and radiates refinement in equal measure" - No Ripcord

“Staggeringly good… The songs he chose were simple, filled with humanity and pathos” – Now Then

“You can hear a pin drop as the audience hang on his every word… Highly impressive” – Counterfeit Magazine
... more

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