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Shouting Distance

de Benoît Pioulard

You'd cut a man down when his life is at its sweetest
Cos he yearns to be found where the lamplight's weakest
The picking of battles like new persimmons
Not high in the saddle but torn to ribbons

Oh the time the tone will lag & rush
Traced in placid places growing flush
Oh the time the tone will rush & lag
Preside over design with smoldered drags

A mural of moments of sharing progression
Vireos on wires to sing hymns of confession
They'll rouse a man's fear when it's dormant as winter
As the yen to be near fetters faith into splinters

Oh the tone the time will lag & rush
His eye is on a sparrow & the thrush
Oh the tone the time will rush & lag
As the roofs & eaves deteriorate & sag

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