I’m almost home to bury my bones
In blanketed black and thistled thrones
I’ve seen it come when the rabbits run
The whispering skin, the saddled sun

Covered my eyes when all was aligned
And sat in the sand, repose remised
But laughed like blood when weaknesses won
A cradled decay, a love to none

I’m almost home to bury my bones
In blanketed black and thistled thrones
I’ve seen it come when the rabbits run
The whispering skin, the saddled sun

A blinding burn from which all returns
From flourishing fawn to ash-ed urn
The things I see mean little to me
A cradled decay, a memory

A memory that sings in my sleep and my dreams
Melodies of uncertainty, make believe
I am here to disappear beneath the salted skies
Almost home, on my own, a runner in the rye