Black Sea

There's nothing easy about the love
We've been swallowed by.
We picked up our heartless-hearts
And we'll run them dry
'Till our hands turn black with the blood,
And our eyes turn red with the fire
We lay restless above.

And it burns the bitter bones
Out of my body's better lies.
But our better be inslings like timber
Of old when we'll die.
Whether winds will keep our remnants
Whistling with them through the skies
Or let us go to lay down with the brine.
At the bottom of the sea our sorrows will lie.

'Till we climb along toward our undoing
Among the fair and fold of this black sea,
And a cradle awaits of endless sleep.