The Sound of Cast Iron

Coarse stone walls, hands on a dial, cast iron strike of dawn, it is time in denial.
It is the point of a moment breaking away, it is the point of sobrieth breaking the chant...

How transparent a circle for the gods, how inherent a encle for the gods...

Into the daylight they keep on falling, fed on miles, they keep on crawling,
Fed on gin, fire, disgust, homewards, afield, ablaze...

It was blistering heat and we were roaming,
We are the nights!
With a bootle of gin and thirst unquenchable
For the light...

A stranger in the alley shades,
Another poor soul going nowhere,
A world of filth despised yet promising,
Salvation...

We know not to call us by a name,
Hunting sparks on the ravaged plains,
Sparks to set the cursed minds aflame for now...

Drenched in swear and easy creatures, lust and violence,
Transports reeking of varfume, of the night,
Of home...