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Chris Mills
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Blackbirds
Blackbirds flying backwards on the wind
Filling sails of sailing boats
That won't sail home again
Four and twenty wings upon the night
Somewhere a lover sings a song with no reply
Fireflies on fire in Mason jars
You hung them from the trees
And pretended they were stars
A thousand little lights all in your eyes
But in the morning, all those little lights had died
And now the phantom blood of memory
Fills the vessel of your pale white cheek
But is the apple of your cloudy eye
The one you sent away or the one you left behind?
He walked you down the lane and back again
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Underneath the garden wall
You buried soldiers made of tin
And though the other boys were all so cruel
He was the one that you played for a fool
Minutes made of moments, days of hours
They covered him in chains
And they locked him in a tower
But in the dead of night, he'd coax the dove
To deliver you a gentle song of love
And now the phantom blood of memory
Fills the vessel of your pale white cheek
But is the apple of your cloudy eye
The one you sent away or the one you left behind?
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