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touch of painted curls
she calculates the wages of sin in her sleep, and her bargain table… 
19th-Oct-2004 10:30 pm
dragons
she calculates the wages of sin in her sleep,
and her bargain table grows darker by the day

nothing remains to cover her eyes
this cloth is burned and scarred
the blindfold's threads can cut
nothing remains to break her will
but rest refused with every limb
saying, in death I'll hold still.
a low whistle calls across water
and nothing remains to hold her

"...in a bower of green, and the rumor of rain,
and an unspoken lie, and a half whisp'red prayer
I yearn away, I burn away,
I turn away the fairest flower of love
'cause darlin' love, love's garden
is a garden of thorns,
black crow when the crow in the corn
brake nettles and the brake growing wild
and thistles surround the edge of the
cold dark hour when the summer is spent
lamenting the jade heart's lament
who nurtures the faith of a child
when nothing remains to cover her eyes?
my body is a number and my face has a name
and each day each hour looks the same to me
but love this longing is a voice on the wind,
she cultivates the wages of sin
and the tanglewood tree..."

~Tanglewood Tree, Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer
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