Turbulence (tosses our bands), I call it in.
Tussle your heads (with knives and hands),
And strike upon the dawn.
(If you) tamper with your unopened hands,
Then I won't set your lover free.
Pretend the sand is suffering, (not them).
(Pretend the sand) is sulfur.
(You will cry), "Let me in!"
And I'll let you in, but nowhere
(Lays your radiant) confidence.
Take the rule and surge the fall,
And ask for them to bear my boy.
(I can) taste you, Anne Boleyn.
(Please tell me), what life is this?
What love is this? (Is this a trick)?
(Here's your tussive medicine
For your well-shaven head).
Dead you land (face down in heaven
Swallowed by the sand). "Breathe in!"
(I command as I untie your hands).
"Dead you rest, so breathe again!"
- Alexander McCurdy