Buried Beds
your bow may bend
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Left alone a seed to sadness grows
Burrows down where thoughts may hide
And breaks up in your cellar floor
And let the water pour, inside
Fill your cup with all the ash and bone
Digging down to see her eyes
And though the archer's bow may bend
A lie that's never told, begins
Abide with me my son
And sing a life that's done
Help for helpless ones, I'll find
Now our arms begin to bend and break
Skin and hair and hearts still grow
We'll sing her death
We'll sing her death.