Blood and Bone

Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust

Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust

Late, late, late night on the hill

The poet came a knocking on the Shaman's window sill

Help me my words don't visit me anymore

The Shaman laughed picked a mouse up from the floor

They sat there in the dark while a mooty as prepared

From the blood of the mouse and an eagle's head

Drink this said the Shaman it'll calm your mind

I promise words will flow from you like rain from the sky

The poet he drank till the glass was bare

While outside a nightingale sang in the air

Thank you said the poet may the gods bless your soul

He shook the old man's hand, walked out into the cold

Early next morning as the sun began to rise

Screams rang out across the old diamond mine

My lover, my lover, my lover he is dead

Next to his wife lay the poet in his bed

Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust

Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust

After many years passed and many tears cried

Still no one could console the poor old poet's bride

For in this life or in the next still she implored

That one of these days she would see her love once more

Then one day in the winter while the famines took a hold

Into a tavern walked a stranger from the cold

He said I'm looking for my woman I've been away for many years

The poet's widow was summoned from her tears

If its you said the widow then where have you been

The demons said the stranger they took me from my sleep

They locked me in the caves put nails through my skull

I escaped with the help of this lonesome nightingale

If its you said the widow then spin me a line

The stranger cleared his throat looked deep into her eyes

Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust

Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust

And they drank and they danced late into the night

But the poet's father was not so satisfied

Next morning the stranger was awoken with a thud

As the police came to take samples of his blood

And as the results of the tests came in

The poet's father screamed I knew it wasn't him

The lonely executioner sharpened his blade

From doing God's work a living he made

And just before he raised his axe up to the birds

He asked the stranger if he had any last words

And the shaman he smiled up on the hill

His promise to the poet was fulfilled

And the widow cried to the moon

And the nightingale sung her last tune

Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust

Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust

Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust

Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust