The Macabray

The Speed Of Sound In Seawater



The Macabray


I count ten in the dusk sun
on the wet grass
facing the woods

And I can't find
Where you have gone
And a cold trail
Is a sign where you've run

and I said, 'Ready or not, here I come.'
Ready or not, here I come

Trippin' on my laces
I am afraid that I've lost my place
at the end of the neighborhood
edge of the world


This was a mistake

With night clear upon us
I am shone fear
In the autumn of my seventh year

An alarming lapse of sound
I see my breath
just like in the stories

Don't want you to turn around

I don't wanna bask in your ghastly glory anymore