The Fairweather Friend - Black Mission Ink

I become King of the black mission ink
When the lines in my arm grow warm and wet
In that moment I must
Be the King of something, I think
There's blood on the floor; It's mingling with my sweat
These hands stretched so far they could tear the red sea apart
And the world surrounding seems black as Jet
In that moment I must
Bleed, bleed red like a beating heart
And something will come, something may come yet

Then the crow, blacker then ever
Tries to tie the points together
With its feathers of wire, like arrow slings
And they meet in the middle, a new point stings
Like a levee crushed under the pressure of a clamp, well
Here it comes now, Here it comes now, Here it comes back round again

And when in hand, my black mission sceptre
Sucks up the blotted ink, like a fountain
Which runs back to the reservoir
And spills its ink all over the spectre
Lulled, hanging trees, with their vessels and veins
Which flow on, upwards and upwards
Til tiny little spots, black mission stains
Grow and round out like little sable stars
Waiting for birds to beak their black mission innards
And there we stand just watching, waiting from afar

Written by:
Ciaran Mckinven

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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