Strange Is the Man - Piers Faccini

Fast to the edge

Close to the south

The remains of the sky

Fast to the edge

Close to the south

The remains of the sky

Are woven into shrouds

Broken and wild

Charcoal in black

The promise of rain

Is swollen in the clouds

Strange is the man free in his heart

Strange is the man unchained at last

Clear is the sap

Under the bark

Carried from the root

It opens the bud

Dry is the tongue

Cracked at the mouth

He trembles in thanks

As he drinks from the cup

Strange is the man free in his heart

Strange is the man unchained at last

Over at the seam

Red to the vein

He’s whispering soft

All the names of the dead

Laughing to himself

Unbound and set

Now the wind is his pillow

And the skies are his bed

Strange is the man free in his heart

Strange is the man unchained at last