Turn The Bells

The market-place has nothing to sell
Left alone its awnings shiver
Wind whistles through the wood
Fish teeth snapping in a river
Peaks puncture the sky  like a child's icy toes
Dipped in a stream  that a few of us know
And the clouds just a ripple
A shock from the impact
Shadows on the street  look like veils at morning
Ice blots in the stone cracks  where tears must have fallen
Oil by the bucket feeds flares to the heavens
Offerings of incense  small bills and lemons
Drumbeats in the caves and heartbeats in the huts
Protectors unveiled for the first time in months
You find some best friends
We'll hold each other
And I'll turn the bells  I'll turn the bells
You find some best friends
We'll hold each other
And I'll turn the bells  I'll turn the bells
The storm clouds pass and everything's for sale
The chattering of rapids and bartering of sunset
Beads crunch like bones through fingers and knuckles
Poor hands pick cheap quartz  in the quarries and cliff-edge
A group of sandalwood trees  with clotted blood coloured bark
Candle-lit teeth  half-moon smiles in the dark
The biker gangs smoking on the edge of the lake
The smoke like white horses a white-eyed mistake
There's spirits in the water like photos in a box
They're torn by the current and crushed by the rocks
You find some best friends
We'll hold each other
And I'll turn the bells  I'll turn the bells
You find some best friends
We'll hold each other
And I'll turn the bells  I'll turn the bells