Blood and Bone

Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust Late, late, late night on the hill The poet came a knocking on the Shaman's window sill Help me my words don't visit me anymore The Shaman laughed picked a mouse up from the floor They sat there in the dark while a mooty as prepared From the blood of the mouse and an eagle's head Drink this said the Shaman it'll calm your mind I promise words will flow from you like rain from the sky The poet he drank till the glass was bare While outside a nightingale sang in the air Thank you said the poet may the gods bless your soul He shook the old man's hand, walked out into the cold Early next morning as the sun began to rise Screams rang out across the old diamond mine My lover, my lover, my lover he is dead Next to his wife lay the poet in his bed Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust After many years passed and many tears cried Still no one could console the poor old poet's bride For in this life or in the next still she implored That one of these days she would see her love once more Then one day in the winter while the famines took a hold Into a tavern walked a stranger from the cold He said I'm looking for my woman I've been away for many years The poet's widow was summoned from her tears If its you said the widow then where have you been The demons said the stranger they took me from my sleep They locked me in the caves put nails through my skull I escaped with the help of this lonesome nightingale If its you said the widow then spin me a line The stranger cleared his throat looked deep into her eyes Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust And they drank and they danced late into the night But the poet's father was not so satisfied Next morning the stranger was awoken with a thud As the police came to take samples of his blood And as the results of the tests came in The poet's father screamed I knew it wasn't him The lonely executioner sharpened his blade From doing God's work a living he made And just before he raised his axe up to the birds He asked the stranger if he had any last words And the shaman he smiled up on the hill His promise to the poet was fulfilled And the widow cried to the moon And the nightingale sung her last tune Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust Men are made from blood and bone like metal made from dust Men are bound to die alone like metals bound to rust