J.H. Prynne - A Figure of Mercy, of Speech lyrics

On the hills of fortune: so that he asks the time and it's grey, with almost solemn insistence. Yes it is, so that perhaps only the smell of resin holds him to a single hopefulness. She knows that, there is an oblique incitement, between them. The branches dissolve upwards, into slivers of the horizon: for each, the fear of this, or too far into the side. The rift that she loves to play, as forward, the sound of his breathing kind. In the light, that each might, running from both in reach to the distance that is unspoken, in the eye where love is, and the sound of water, euterpe shall it be called. They will play over the slip, making the flesh and nails on the handsome fingers, to the action of the light, will play the open palm hoping to keep to it, the fearful exaction of love: in grey light and hope in columns, by the river side.