Barbed wire fences stretch down this dirt road
All the way to the dusty iron gates that hold back
The secrets of an ill regarded graveyard
A space of well intentioned headstones that lie in wait
For the paranoia of the seasons to come to an end
Late spring flies gather and swarm
Between shadows of the passing years
In nonsensical terms this all makes perfect sense
Innocence
In a sense
Lost through time
Revoked beauty held hidden just beneath the surface
Blood runs from the trees down through the roots
The buds of a pale future drown in the soil
Before they will ever have the chance to bloom
Nothing will survive the coming days
But we should be so lucky for the chance to start again
WILDsound Festival 