The texture of the soul is a liquid 
That casts a vermilion flood
From a wound carved as an oath
It fills the river bank a sanguine fog
These arms were meant to be lost
Hacked, severed and forgotten

The texture of time is a whisper 
That echoes across the flood
It's hymn resonates from tree to tree
Through every sullen bough it sings
These boughs were said to be lost
Torn, unearthed and broken

Earth to flesh, flesh to wood
Cast these limbs into the water
Flesh to wood, wood to stone
Cast this stone into the water