Lyrics: All Souls

A carnival, a flesh farewell

Hiessens rising from the, from the dead

Wyman-Elvis! Calls our gurrel

And counts the ash to where, to where he bled:


At the first a crimson mist

At the second sleeplessness

At the third a broken tryst

At the fourth a lwonesomeness


Gawly the sweethearts leaves

The soldier's tears

The Riddle river grieves:

Wyman-Elvis disappears


Only in a scrid of flesh

Hooked upon the hart's-tongue fern

Only by her own gooseflesh

Knows she somewhen he'll return