The dull trees, they were hard to fake
Your absence, as the mist about to break
To break me, to make me of nothing
Trees dotted about the hillside
Crows out on the road, picking at the roadkill
Eddie Reader sings of Macushla (My darling)
You my love are elsewhere, in Rickmanswowrth
Between the windmill and the plough
Between the nighttime and the now
Forsworn and forsaken
What is taken is taken
What is lost is lost
It's magic is moved, somehow at cost
I have no thoughts of mink
Nor of the sweeping swallows
I fear for a life that turns to indistinct
Nowhere to go, no one who follows
I fear, for a vine halfway to the brink
Feel for fallow, feel for deeper hollows
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