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letra de nun but the lost - foxtails brigade

nun but the lost shall find their way
to neither forest neither valley neither darkness nor day
shall the wretched be confined when the swinging
daggers prophesize
still they grind, grind, grind, grind
through the rust and the rubble and the rubbish and the rind
and in the chime, chime, chime, chime chime
of the flesh falling from the face of filth and flies
they cry a little louder, a little longer
with twisted timbre, like sleepy songbirds
“no don’t take us, don’t forsake us
we’ll’ve paid our debts when we’re up in ‘heaven’
place inside your pockets the pulp of pride
all candy-coated, crystal-covered, cracked and caramelized
for when the toll the bell must take
one does make and eat his cake then too
see sight through the sockets of sunken eyes
in retrospective view selective few are colorblind
but in the hour of despair when all is seemingly unfair
they cry
still they grind, grind, grind, grind
through the trust and the trouble and the toil of
the times and in their prime, prime, prime, prime, prime
it is pitiful the people who prevail and preside
but cry a little louder, a little longer
with twisted timber, like sleepy songbirds
no don’ t stop there, don’t resign
just cry a little louder, a little longer…
none but the lost shall find their way
and in the dust and the drilling and the digging for the day
there is an edge that’s silver-lined
and it casts beams of light that shine and shine

- foxtails brigade

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