All of the falling on the ground
Holder in ground
I lay down a shrine and [bad word] with the autumn to tear it down
Orange and brown and I lay a soft
Down for all the waiting old
And thine brethren
Bathing bones and brine separate
Your light from mine
Multiply

Under the spell of full November moon
Light on the broom, frost in my room
In through a window came a ghost I knew

She paid me a visit while I was in my bed
Sleepy, she said, "sleep as though dead
For in the morning you are called"
Is what she said to

The high desert all is raging
You must go to the battlefield
And follow the cry of men rampaging
And gather the ones that won't heal

Down through a cloud of smoke to the promise land
Many are dead, [bad word] red
For my god and for my king is what he said

Oh I came down to my knees
With my lips to his ear
My hand to his chest
His wounded breast
For my god and for my king
I will not rest

But in the high desert
You are dying
For your god and his ghost and the son
Do not hold to the earth,
On which you are lying
For the kingdom can never be won

All of the falling on the ground
Holder in ground
I lay down a shrine and [bad word] with the autumn to tear it down
Orange and brown and I lay a soft
Down for all the waiting old
And thine brethren
Bathing bones and brine separate
Your light from mine
Let go of the earth