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Slow Moon's Rose - Slapp Happy
Now that the slow moon's rose
on a silver trellis grows,
Where artic rivers froze,
now that the ocean is frozen in motion,
Snow morning comes.
And the birds on the wing
have nothing left to sing,
blown in blue glass
like a schooner held fast
on the ice.
Besides that river
Where I picked the slow moon's rose -
I watched the evening wither
with a jewel at the end of my nose.
Tell-tale snails leave their trails,
running from hunters' black blunderbus
under the sun.
Besides that river
Where I picked the slow moon's rose -
I watched the evening wither
with a jewel at the end of my nose.
Tell-tale snails leave their trails,
running from hunters' black blunderbus
under the sun.
