Sencillo / Pista
When serpents come
They cover the Christ thorn
Two heads and cock heads
Serpents feet are the motion
Lidded eyes and smudged reality
Everything has two faces
One is earthly without true form
The other blackened and blackening
Mother is in the fields
Father's in the fields
You know well its tortured form
It's locked within a particular place
It's locked within a particular form
It's jailed by a falling light
With angles, shapes and size
It's held by two wood
It's held by three place
It's a name that has no name
Mother is in the fields
Father's in the fields
It's a form creating formless
Formless creating form
Oh four towers read them backwards
Do not spell their sound
Do not move to their lies
Speak the words and they
Create the universe and
They destroy all universe
Mother is in the fields
Father's in the fields
Heavy lidded eyes do not mask the pain
They shade us from the burning light
Listen, one face, one form, one truth
I see it through the staining glass
I see it fractured in the world
This is not true, it's appearance only
Mother is in the fields
Father's in the fields
An eagle flies his bloody face
Behind bloody claw, behind bloody cause
His pain is blackened rain
His rain is Roman cyan pain
It is not finished, it happens now
Matchstick men in a matchstick world
Match the brick with the sickle
Make the sickle slice the corn
Time stops when he was thirty-three
And mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
Time stops when I'm thirty
Time stops then and time stops there
Then is now, why do we not see it
Time stops, time breaks, time holds
Time seizes, the pestle grinds the mortar
The mortar turns to dust, the metal turns to rust
Words they fail, they fall apart
The corn it dies and is reborn
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
Blonde hair moves in the blonde corn
Boyd wears black, he talks of death
But all his faces spell out light
Michael's on the roof he's kissing a rose
As blood drops come from the heart of her life
Something hangs above there in the skies
Something hovers above his brown hair
Life lollars in the background of light
And the birds don't sing when the curtains snap
Anita's in Ireland, she's falling over rocks
Scars are for scarring, scars are for her pain
And all scars meet in the falling star
And some make money from weapons' blood
And some make money from hunger blood
And some make money from politics' blood
And some make money from fear blood
And some make money from religion is blood
The world falls apart, the world starts to seize
And mother is in the fields
Father has died in the fields