Totem (Lm)

Lady, Your empire is turning gray The sun is about to set Your children are falling away Around us creep a new death Of familiar beliefs, and truth The worm suckles at your root Lady, Your dead branches waste the rain Leaves fall like acid spindles Nothing grows near you again Your shade so slowly dwindles I must join the birds in flight Winter has the coldest night Lady, Who exalted you to keep Records of ancestral mirth And by our cradles feign sleep Drunk with the blood of our birth O tyrant in old sheep's dress The milk's bitter in your breast Lady, Imagination alone Pedestal you to your claim Upon time's tradition throne I can't concede you my name While we in nothing agree Love's the salt that keep the sea Lady, Nothing keeps you, nor do you Anything keep, changing while You dream for applause, and rue The heart that dare trust your smile Only for yourself pride heaps Promises where no faith leaps