| return to the world of nixon | |
sung the piper, and i know... the sea birds circling above the submerged terrain of my heart iceland is sinking beneath the waves as a latter-day atlantis at the height of its glory at the height of its folly who shall bemoan the loss of innocent people beneath the waves who will notice and film the terrors experienced by those natives of my heartland iceland is sinking beneath the waves and no one reaches out with their calloused hands to help those the hot springs bubble furiously in the soothing coolness of the sea lava cools to rock houses brittle corpses rot as their lifeless limbs dance so free hair spread like noodles in the rain the navigator laughs with glee as he wipes away a single tear and marks an x on his map where iceland once stood and the birds fall, exhausted one by one into the sea ending their eternal search for land iceland is sinking beneath the waves water pouring out into countless graves we ignore your frantic calls the little people must fend for themselves iceland is sinking beneath the waves what dreams i once had are now drowned by oil-drenched beaches and the wails of liquid lungs and another pass over the great shadow i wonder what i have missed blood pours from my chest mixes its crimson with the plush of my chair moisture sticking on my hands i motion i motion open the door, open the hatch air pours out sucking me out and i fall free towards iceland, towards iceland towards the blue-green home iceland is sinking beneath the waves and now... crushed beyond recognition from the splash i sink as well farewell, iceland farewell, world we sink, and the navigator laughs and the piper sings on the radio crackling under solar radiation of the northern lights... |