Byron Cage Follow

Before the feathers run brown
God bar the windows
That we may though hollow be sound

And this island be shackled to her waters
Here we vow never to change
Here we will stand at last for something
With no desire to pretend

Send up our prayers to gilded idols
Their names etched in heartwood of palm
And scatter the ashes of the contracts
Their freedom so hollow a song

God cage the songbird
Before the feathers run brown
God bar the windows
That we may though hollow be sound

And the street lamp will be tethered to her station
The poor man be tethered to the flesh
The wise man be tethered to his wisdom
The mother be tethered to her cresch

Was your hunger your awareness of salvation
As your chances go slipping to the past
You're tortured by the changing of the seasons
And each grain of sand in the glass

God cage the songbird
Before the feathers run brown
God bar the windows
That we may though hollow be sound