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what's o'clock
TIME'S ACRE
Beat, beat, with your soft, grey feet,
Tear at the cold, rough stone.
His grave is here, but it's many a year
Since the grass on it was mown.
Tear at the cold, rough stone.
His grave is here, but it's many a year
Since the grass on it was mown.
His ears are crumbled to bitter dust,
His eyes are a hollow bone.
Your twisting hair is bright and fair,
But he is under a stone.
His eyes are a hollow bone.
Your twisting hair is bright and fair,
But he is under a stone.
Go back again to your own wide tomb,
Leave him in peace within
His grave that is narrow and shallow and small,
There is no room for two between either wall,
And the walls are caving in.
Leave him in peace within
His grave that is narrow and shallow and small,
There is no room for two between either wall,
And the walls are caving in.
