Infirm in the Country & Lost in the Brick

Stretch the fortress dry and run the cable short
I've been dried to the cedars in an indian fort
earth gods and elves and a seductive evil sort
I cry and bleed blood on these leviathan streets
I dance with draconian brides and share their american cohort
I dance in pickled gaze at the strings of the heart beats
in the hall of the elders where vikings cure the meats
and carve long boats with stories of ice and great defeats
and with winds of a thousand words they crumble into doom
while you sell london critics immaculate seats
they walk slowly past the stained glass electrical room
where inside blooming crowns spit whistle and assume
that their atheistic veins may turn blue gold on a nameless loom
stuck between graveyard motors and expanse of thought
where hanging on the crossroad is the mistaken potted groom
to all these brag emotions take point that it was you who sought
to strangle closed the road where I was stuck and caught
in wraps and nets and thighs and veiled poison fraught
in chains cast iron cord shackle locks outstretched desert posts
release in sweet grains and with weapons few i fought
I will give the blessings of the hosts
given through chaos and the fire gates of ghosts
where mighty in their pitch torture boasts
of the never ending humiliated ionic court
and damned raise drinks for one more of their toasts