Part Iii

The Decemberists

They settled dust in your hair

To watch you shake and shout it out

With our armaments bared

We shed our bags and travel alls.



From the lee of the wall

He comes in chain and chariot

And all his eunuchs in thrall

Can scarce lift his line and lariat.



Here come loose the hounds

To blow me down.

Blow me down.

On this stretch of ground

I'll lay me down.

Lay me down.

To Sleep.



And now stricken with pangs

That tear at our backs like thistledown

The mirror's soft silver tain

Reflects our last birthing hour.



Here come loose the hounds to blow me down

Blow me down.

On this stretch of ground

I'll lay me down

Lay me down.

To Sleep.