WHISKY PRIESTS

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Epitaph and Lament for the Setting Sons

 

Lyrics

EPITAPH FOR THE SETTING SONS

The sacred hearts have crumbled
The black crow is on the wing
The sun has set on Easington
The Tempest was in Vane
And the setting sons are tempered
By the rising flames again
And as a frost descends in winter
They melt the coldest stone

The feast is left uneaten
No banquet comes to town
No roast is spitted on the fire
Unburned and underground
We dug a million tunnels
We shouldered through the gloom
And we shouldered arms with hands on hearts
As we forged a living tomb

Now who will scale the mountains
That rise up from the ground
Who will climb the ladders
As they sink without a sound
Who will build foundations
Now that we are gone
Where is the rock that stops the tide
Beneath the setting sun

(Gary Miller)

LAMENT FOR THE SETTING SONS

[Instrumental]

(Glenn Miller)


© 1994 Whippet Records

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Releases (on Whippet Records unless otherwise stated)