The grasses taste like fire, she said
The grasses taste like fire, she said
And in the end, the grasses taste
Like corpses' down upon our head.
The grasses taste like fire, my friend
And in the end, that's what she said
Like corpses' down it twists around
And tastes just like the lonesome dead.
But birds fly frantic, grasses die.
Puffs of milkweed litter sky.
Hints at meaning scream and then
All that was is gone again.
Echoed singing chants the hall
Mocking holds my doubts in thrall
Sweetness yields to other might
Mocking comes to claim its right.
The grasses taste like dust, she said
The grasses taste like rust.
Gone the mound and gone the sound
Of grasses tasting like the must.