Evenings of Damask
MARC BOLAN
The evenings of Damask are falling
The youth of truth chest
Feeds a starling
With his heart.
A chosen man begged by the wayside
A horse came soon and died before him
And said eat.
The icy claws of earth are crawling
Upon my baby`s brow and calling
Please come home.
The boy unlike the man was smiling
For gulleys, streams and hills would hide him
Like a swan.
A vagabond, a weaver warrior
Produced a loom, a cheese and chopper
And said choose.
My sandled feet are fleet like water
I kiss the limbs is Earthess daughter
A little tree.