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Fionn Regan
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100 Acres Of Sycamore
We'll go to knuckle to knuckle, and buckle against buckle,
Your nostrils will flare as you push out the air,
Rise up, brother,
Rise up from the trappings of flesh and the holdings of skin,
We'll steer the car towards the reservoir,
And poison our senses as nightfall commences,
Rise up, brother,
Rise up from the monotony that is hemming you in,
Tonight while you sleep you'll be grinding your teeth,
Put your head at the North and the South at your feet,
Rise up, brother,
Rise up from the pack who are baying and drawing up blood,
Who is that?
How can you hear the door,
On one-hundred acres of sycamore?
Oh flash my hand past your eyes in the air,
But it won't break your stare,
Is there anyone there,
With the four black winds blowing through the eaves of your mind?
If he darkens your doorway, you come and tell me,
Where he resides, text me or bell me,
Rise up, sister,
I'll make sure he never darkens your doorway again,
Don't be a stranger to me anymore,
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I'll hold a lantern, put your heel on the shore,
Rise up, sister,
Rise up from the black ships that sail through the swan of your heart,
Who is that?
How can you hear the door
On one-hundred acres of sycamore?
Oh flash my hand past your eyes in the air,
But it won't break your stare,
Is there anyone there,
With the four black winds blowing through the eaves of your mind?
Those weasels in the weeds where waiting to jump us,
One had a screwdriver and one had a cutlass,
We counted the beats between thunder and lightning,
One-thousand and two, one-thousand and three,
It's coming in from the sea,
Put your hand on my leg,
Kilometres in blue, miles in black,
Bruise my eyes in the bathroom,
Arm-wrestle, East, West, place brass tack,
Bite my lip in the quarry midnight raining,
Unravel on the gravel, phone off hook,
Search for the lighter in my pocket,
Go inner, and inner, and bolt, and book,
Let the four black winds be gone from the eaves of your mind.
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