• Scream your sins to the endless black nothing.
    The bright daggers slash the sky wide open
    and soak the ground with nature’s blood pouring
    in torrents, in crystals of blinding ice
    do you hear heaven roaring its war song?
    It can never wash corrupted hearts clean

    but come, try and scrub your wretched hands clean
    do your broken, bleeding palms mean nothing?
    This song is for you but there is no song
    raucous enough to suit. Let’s rip open
    your chest, are those veins or strings of ice
    over guilt? Why the frightened tears pouring

    pouring, streaming down, staining ground? Pouring -
    and I’ll never dry them for you, won’t clean
    what falls from bloodshot yellow eyes of ice.
    What remorse falls down? Once you felt nothing
    but I’m not hushed now and let’s be open
    this is not the first time I’ve sung this song

    rumbling voices raise high the awful song
    lament of recalled cruelty it’s pouring
    from the roof of the world with open
    wounds and rasping throats, together we clean
    the slate for the world so that nothing
    is hidden nothing sleeps frigid in ice

    but you’re no glacier, no giant of ice!
    You’re no flickering flame nor earth nor song
    of gale as it ruins the town – nothing –
    senseless wordy rants from my hands pouring
    but I want so much to change the past, clean
    the anguish away as old scars tear open

    The storm dies down but the eyes don’t open;
    around the sprawling body bits of ice
    are dyed in the spreading pool, and it’s clean,
    what could be cleaner than the last of song?
    A lullaby in whispered voice pouring
    no fury, no questions, it means nothing

    and I regret nothing. Not the open
    hatred that’s pouring, nor the misted ice
    in the fading breath of the life wiped clean.