Black Wave
James Russell Mercer
This goose is cooked, these tongues are tied
Around the block and airborne blind
But looking on the brighter side
There's far less to which I'd be obliged
In the meadow where the black breeze blows
Where underneath the waves, you were most alone
Can you hear a subtle, aching tone?
Through the water, through the Earth, trimmed up bone
Looking on the brighter side
Looking on the brighter side
Looking on the brighter side
Looking on the brighter side
Looking on the brighter side
Looking on the brighter side