The fear is growing there in the candle house.
Like a spreading serpent,
tentacled and silent.
We hear the speak of the angel as she settles on down to hallowed earth,
saying,
"Begin those labors of contentment and ease."
as she walks forward,
slowly.
Or is it the wind?
Chiming through the mobile composed of drifted wood?
You ask a question...

Collecting shells
along the pebbled beach cannot have paved the way for this afternoon's fright.
Oh no...
Although our eyes find acute solitude
whilst fixed upon the oyster shell.
The vision all around
enveloping the shell is indeed a chaotic slaughter
of color and black definition.

There is an explosion,
a crashing ringing,
and a collapse of earth.
Burning white as sun bleached sand
on the eyes of a metallic insect.
The snow is beginning to fall
many particled and infinite.
The snow is meeting the hardened clay and sand.
Many particled and infinite.
In many instants of transformational kissing,
the snow meets the creek.

There is a man trudging his shattered way along the far side of that creek.
Moving closer, we see that the man has been beaten and bloodied.
Although it is well into the early hours of darkness,
we see that the man is a black man.
An African who has been enslaved.
An African who has been enslaved and broken
from his mother's side.
A human being dragging frozen iron chains and ankle braces
through the near freezing water of the creek.
Earlier he had made the decision
that frozen feet are better than feet ripped warm.
Ripped and shredded warm
by the mouths of crazed bloodhounds.
So now he trudges.
A curse can be heard
coming from the man's palsied lips.

Candle house.
Like a spreading serpent,
tentacled and silent.
We hear the speak of the angel as she settles on down to hallowed earth,
saying,
"Begin those labors of contentment and ease."
as she walks forward slowly.
Or is it the wind?
Or is it just the wind chiming through the mobile?

A curse can be heard coming from the man's palsied lips.
The snow will soon be collecting on the ground.
And when that happens,
the hunters won't even need the aid of the tracking dogs anymore,
but they'll keep them.
You can hear them say,
"Ain't nothing like a nigger before the dog..."
Damn the snow.

Inspired and driven by his hallowed sister moon.
Breaking this container as the dogs break the container.
Cocoon.
I am alive.
After its recession there is a deepness
to the tide.
After a life only a spirit's tangibility has died…
after the cold.
After the cold death of winter there is the deep life of spring.
As afterwards the words still ring.

As afterwards the words still ring.


Lyrics submitted by penitenziagite, edited by Ouroboros115

As Afterwards the Words Still Ring song meanings
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9 Comments

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    General Comment

    Hmm.. I just ordered this cd from No Idea so if it actually comes in, I'll add the lyrics to theyre other songs and see if i can fix this.. This is one of the only Moss Icon songs I havent heard.

    DarkerShadeofWinteron April 19, 2004   Link

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