Wicked Wings of Weeping

Cast off your wicked, wicked wings of weeping

burn the cloak ‘neath which you’ve lain sleeping

the hills demand that, which lies in your keeping

the power to name all the things

which died

alone.

No more secrets

cry the waters

of the earth.

The voices call

till their throats turn raw

that you must put your hand

in the Coyote’s paw

no answer will you receive

but your questions

will cause the birds

to grieve

at last the remedy that redeems.

Dance to the tune that plays

now that you’ve returned your heart

to the keyhole in the ground.

The thunder in the distance

forms a name

that belongs to you.

Written by Willem