This House (Rests)

Weard

All lyrics copyright Roy Weard

In the corner of my eye
Where the dust begins to gather
And I'm too afraid to cry
Sedimentary sentiments set
Through the window of my soul
At the heart of the matter
In that emotional black hole
Where memories go to forget

In the passage of time
Grandfather clock's stentorian ticking
Marks this passing pantomime
That has now become routine
And on the carpet of my tongue
Still salty from that wounded licking
Where the bleeding once began
Now become sanguine

In the cavern of my chest
The heart is huddled by the fireplace
Where those dying embers rest
In an echo of their heat
And in the house of me
I Step back and I find a safe place
The only place that I can be
Inside the dust of my retreat

And this house has come to the conclusion
That everything is not in order
We've been labouring under the delusions
That we are bricks and mortally inclined

We're scrutinised
And sanitised
And criticised
And so chastised
We barely raise our eyes - at all,
What's object of the exercise?
If all we come to when we die
Is dust is blown in others eyes - and falls

Tears fall and this house rests
Dust blows as this house rests

This house rests

That Legendary Wooden Lion

This House (Rests)