After the Flood

I remember coming out that tunnel mouth
singing high and in the water, spring and sing before us the palms hung like reconsidered suicides
from the red ponds of mountain sides
preserved as a lion was preserved at the start
this was along time ago
Run
the echos were turning slow
it doesn’t mater
the echos were turning slow
the echos were turning slow
it doesn’t mater
it doesn’t mater
the echos were turning slow
it doesn’t mater
it doesn’t mater
it drives before my lips close
it doesn’t mater
it doesn’t mater
My gift to you was a lake of tears,
what a day for 8 long years
My gift to you was a lake of tears,
a lake of the echos were turning slow
it doesn’t mater
it doesn’t mater
the echos were turning slow
it doesn’t mater
it doesn’t mater