at the blue gates of death

		before and beyond the blue gates of death
		oh only two birds they soar through the sky
		take two blackbirds crossformed in poppy fields
		and sprung in the springtime in Europe's fertile years
		when the rain was immaculate not scarred and twisted
		and where in the heart that beats in man
		and where in the soul that beats in this heart
		are the pastures of the little shining man
		
		he has reached the blue gates of death
		he is at the blue gates of death
		of death...the blue gates of death
		
		she tells me she loves me but he always beckons
		through the forests of green
		though the night slides in
		.
		his glass in hand 
		slumps over the table
		and birch she sits there scowling
		another eagle darkens the stage
		and over the fissures 
		the moss everywhere
		and the ships blackblue
		statues point to the sky
		birth
		earth
		and dawn
		
		the blue gates of death
		we have reached the blue gates of death
		we are at the blue gates of death
		
		and her eyes horizontal
		like her heart
		like her secret
		there is no pain for me to feel
		"do not touch this pain of mine"
		she says "it is all darkened fear"
		and London Bridge has fallen down
		my mother drinks Victoria gin
		eating gingerbread men
		two ciphers straddle the stage
		reclaim, declaim and decant
		their moves are pointless
		their promises echo through the cinema
		
		they have reached the blue gates of death
		they are at the blue gates of death
		they shall go through the blue gates of death
			
		and his name is carved in stone
		but the time has soaked it away
		where the rain runs to the sea
		it takes the moisture from this world
		where riverruns to the sea
		it drags ships to the courses
		where the blue is to green
		and the waves lap at the night
		
		all have reached the blue gates of death
		it has come to its end at the blue gates
		at the blue gates of the threshold
		of threshold of blue gates
		
		and love is the law is written in notebooks
		the desert ships and the sand
		.
		the desert blossom grows
		and blows in the wind he wails
		and sand is all everything
		he waits in the corner watching
		he waits in the quarter
		behind the roses fields and pastures
		where madness is the norm
		and laughing is the wine
		full garlands hang on the head of porcupine god
		training tresses and vines
		ripping and raving
		world without end
		and purple is the colour
		scarlet is the dress
		round about his blues