Ritual Flowers - Gatherers

Lay down your skin

And let us in

What comforts the sheep on the night before the slaughter?

What’s to believe?

What’s to hold on to?

You drag the weight with blistering skin

A deafening calm buried the lake

The silver tarnished to black and you’re greener by the day Put on your mask

and follow me down through the roots and the crop

Pass the torch in silent exchange

Hands pulling you under a ritual fade

Lay your flowers by the pyre, give your eyes to the trees —

You are the rope and I am the chair beneath