The Dead of the Night Recoils Down the Pavements

The dead of the night recoils down the pavements
There’s an eternal sleep for you as fear takes
the anxious wives and latent husbands
at the slightest sight
And all the flecked butterflies creep like terrorists
and chanting

at the dead of the night recoils down the pavements
Panic is a warm gun in the wake
of your ignorance
which is the bullet from the height
from your mighty horse, and saying they’re curing the disease
and running outside and singing

like buzzards, everything seems melodious
and so all that’s to see
is the proof that men’s not only blind but dead

They talk of sins, they’re all from Dis
And I can’t relate that much
but I’m guessing anything goes
So yes, your fear is my problem
You’re the same disease
So get off your horse and take that gun off your hand
Because it’s a proof that you’re not only blind but dead