Ramsbury Lyrics

Lurching

Youthful hands ever searching

For some tiny angel perching

On the trunks of trees or often under lampshades

You can find them

Hands are aging

Ink to paper

As it's drying there are tweezers

In my fingers

Old and wrinkled

I explore their perfect figures

All one hundred thousand lives kept under glass

Someday they'll join me

In a chrysalis of moonlight

At the end

Bury me in Wiltshire in my sleep

My microlepidoptera and me

Cemetery stone for Meyrick, E.

Cedarwood cocoon beneath a tree

I'll burst forth from Ramsbury with wings

Witness our eclipse as it sings

Nine Sri Lankan moths have formed a ring

Aurelian cathedral for the king

Fly, fly away from this cold planet

With two hundred thousand wings behind you

Hear them as together they make thunder

Like a comet

Like a shooting star I want it

Leave us blinded on the surface

Cold and worthless

Left to slither on our bellies

Like the serpent

Hail the king of moths

Genuflect in awe toward his flight

One hundred thousand stars

Bathing us in scars and light