Dark Decisions

At my God's decree
I wound my chain
round wilted hearts
and shifting rain
over graves of ghosts
and bleeding pain
at the loss of treasures
I couldn't claim

At my Father's bid
I traveled my sea
all splinters caught
in the husks of glee
all sparkling in
the brilliant flow
of moldy sap
from a rotting tree

And the Howling Dogs
bid me to say
that I had come
from fields of gray
and that I leave
to make my way
into the same
or so they pray

At the bid of forces
scarcely seen
all hiding in
my twisty dreams
I've slowly pressed on into
what would seem
to be a trap constructed
from my skin

I let myself be pulled on
o'er this sea
and let the few last hopes I had
all sink
but though I now bid myself
to be free
I never do follow my own decree.

And the Howling Dogs
bid me to pray
that better things
will come my way
but I left my God
in a field of gray
where he makes His grave
or so they say