Eleventh He Reaches London - No Funeral

An embalming 'til I'm light
Shallow, shallow on a wooden floor
And I quiver, lone, and I quiver like a stumbling foal

And I cry, 'Johanna, Johanna my bones are goneBut she's gelding colts, and raising foals
So I sleep in shallow, Johanna is gone again
Now she's writing prose and crushing bones

And I'd love to cry her name but I'd be howling out
Satanic words out in the mist of morn

And I'd love to seize the day but I am all entwined
Of spastic flesh and misery of home

And I'd love to hold her down and die depressed with me
But on rotting floor she'd never call me hers

And I'd love to cry her name but I'd be drawling out
Satanic words out in the night
My hard spun gelding strides out across the field
And wails out unrehearsed to something that he'll never know
'Oh all I've got is fear and a violent self-inflicted deathAs I wail, howl, my hands, my head
'Oh all I've got is fear and a twisted neck between the fenceAs he wails and howls in the twilight of his living hours
And I watch helplessly from the window of my old stone house
As I wail, howl, in a witch's house

Measured pulse of the blood from my hands, I wailed and howled
Wished the foals all the joy but the death of my friends, I'll be with them
Oh my body, is borrowed from the lord, I'll be with them

In a house of failing organs, I wade through the mire of the dawn
I'm a coffin, I'm a tomb
Rejecting god and love, in a hard spun quiver, I am with them
Oh my bānhūs, is borrowed not stole, I'll be with them

I'm a coffin, I'm a tomb