Colin Timothy Gagnon (sacredspud) wrote,
Colin Timothy Gagnon
sacredspud

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Power Underneath Despair

So ultimately it ends rather badly and for reasons nobody but me could possibly piece together because, well, nobody but me is me. It's too bad because I'd like some help understanding it. I tried that route about a year ago, and it only made things worse. The other route (plop, plop! Fizz, fizz!) was equally unworkable, in that it makes me want to justify the problems I'm trying to eradicate. That's not supposed to happen. In the end, Chicken Little was right, after all. I sincerely believe that no one will notice.

I promised myself that I'd never post lyrics on my LiveJournal, but here they are, both inspiration and premature conclusion:

Wings Wetted Down
by Albert Bouchard and Joe Bouchard
©1973 B. O'Cult Songs, Inc.


Flights of black horsemen
Soar o’er the churches
Pursued by an army of birds in the rain

None of them can see the clouds
The polished wings don’t care
Animal ways through the hazy
Dreams full of pain

Wings wetted down
Stumbling on the ground
It all turns around
In the end, the end, the end

The voices sound deadly
Sometimes I hear
Echoes of empires
Spread throughout the sky

Wings wetted down
Stumbling on the ground
It all turns around
In the end, the end, the end

Flights of black horsemen
Soar o’er the churches
Pursued by an army of birds in the rain

Wings wetted down
It all turns around
It all turns around
In the end, the end, the end
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