Coulsels Of Constance Lyrics

Is perspective a spire, a strait, a place?
-- to begin with what can be seen but not divided
Where will we measure surface and plane so tamely, watching marked men, escapees, and peasants in the snow?
? Finding, tilting, at a windmill. One move: feet and hands forward into schisms running backwards.
Align: lead the charge forward into forces turning westward.
In the snow, finding hidden places for the galliots,
awaiting an eager and pensive arrival of easels to paint a wiresonde and pout heresy
-- to stumble feet and hands forward into schisms running backwards