There's a bridge over the river
Obsessively devoted to the silver
of lonesome lunar nights and cold
There's a bridge wooden and old
Where I always stood a shadow
Waiting for the night to grow
Bridge that bridged my world
Bridged my wound, my word
Bridged red fire with black ice
Bridged black ice with grey stone
And I stood there lost and alone
Lost be my sun with moon's quiver
Alone be my spine and its shiver
Lost is my dying virtuous tongue,
And alone my Owl dirge be sung
Over the bridge where I stood
Where I stand, Where the wood
Smell as rotten as my silence,
As weak as my soulful guidance
From my home, a noble land
To my home, under water and sand,
And Here I stand,
Still and alive as a tree and
Violent and dead like a grave
Watching what life truly gave
Float away under my feet
With a heavy steady droning beat
Consuming me through the night
Come hither the morning light
Over the wooden bridge and river
They will be silent as can be
There will be not one trace of me
Forever and forever.
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