Kirsten Supine
Michael Gira
May moonlight fall upon your breast
May god send wind to lick your lips
The river flows beneath your comb
Granite, pines silver shine, green velvet throne
Folding in, folding in, the watern sings the black horse scream
May planets crash, may god rain ash, to sear our skin, to fold us in
Kneeling close, seeking hands, our blood is warm, but what comes next!
I will let it go, I can't let it go
I won't let it go, I can let it go