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I Raise The Dead

from Hand Against The Yew by Ronan Delisle

/

lyrics

Kneeling in the candle light
I raise the dead
My final chance
To sit with him

A ritual of my own design
A three month’s mind
To send him on
To infinity

Was it mercy or cruelty?
I'll ask the leaves
Was it comedy or tragedy?

God asked him to bury a son
So where is God now
Is there no reward
For loyalty

In the garden how the sweat would drip from his brow
Every old song he would hum to us, every story told
Is it really time to say goodbye?

Couldn’t bring myself to look
At the wilted form that he’d taken on
Already gone

Weeks pass in a moment’s time
The dust collects on a golden ring
While the furnace sings

To be my mother’s son is to hunt for meaning
In what a sick sad world left us on the doorstep

One day we’ll uncover the source
Of the secrecy that lines our walls
That keeps us apart

In the garden how the sweat would drip from his brow
Every old song he would hum to us, every story told
Is it really time to say goodbye?

Salt of summer, sand in my hair, cut-up fingers
Wind in my sail, whirl of anise, pocket knife in hand
Is it really time to say goodbye?

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from Hand Against The Yew, released February 25, 2022

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Ronan Delisle Los Angeles, California

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