We listen for someone to crack a word
The glisten of rain on two tongueless birds
This prison: despairing of ever being heard
While here, high and chill
We wait for a bell
To ring in the day
We’re touching, afraid of ever letting go
Claws clutching this dead branch of the old sycamore
I am searching the skies and your face for a trace of code
While here, high and chill
We wait for a bell
To ring in the day
Our breathing is falling strangely in synch
Wings beating, hearts quailing at the lip of the brink
Oh to be seeing the links of this chain slip and sink
But here, high and chill
We wait for one cracked bell
To ring in the day