Peasant Dramatic (The)

Flood
I am restless in the cadence of a copper-covered nightI'm hiding on your doorstepI am curiously cautious, we are recklessly alrightThe satellites ignore usI am made of your sorrowI am made of your bloodI am made of the agitated watersThat rolled from you to me like a floodI am crazy crunched and crying in the quiet of the streetsI turn and burn and witherAnd I dreamed I knelt by everyone I knewPraying to be deliveredI am made of your passionI am made of your bloodI am made of the songs of desperationThat flowed from you to me like a floodI am strung up loose and lying like a death's head on a chimeI am a hundred years of winterAnd living life-like in the cradle of a melody and rhymeIn the sleep of your golden October, turn over, and so -I am made of your silenceI am made of your bloodI am made of the syllables you craveThat sank into my skin like a flood From Letras Mania