Hobart Obit

When should I wash the smell of you from my hands?
I've a bottle set by for the afternoon but I've yet to make my plans
I been trying to clean up
But there's always another nest of glass, another nick above the eye
Trails of blood in the grass
But the folly wants reason, thinks it's justified
That I should parse the matter…?

I tried to care for you the best I could
We mapped it out and reconfigured the old neighbourhood
But time is a bastard, time is vial of petty sands
The body's a basket emptying to the niggardly hands
Of Aeon for his array of our strung out decay
A little more each day, such is the arrangement

In the years, in a vigilant garden, nothing to fear
O in the years receiving your love, having your love

Send a message to the Hell of the hounds
Not a hair on this pair will e're your Cerberus stare down
To Elysium express, to the hedgerow of the blessed
Make it wide and warm egress, no more Winter for them
Honour to the animal
Come to me in my new pall
And embrace me at the wall
Make it crumble and fall…

In the years, in a vigilant garden, nothing to fear
O in the years receiving your love, having your love

When should I wash the smell of you from my hands?
I've a bottle set by for the afternoon but I've yet to make my plans
Better than blue skies, jasmine in the Spring
Thinking to conquer death with a whiff of the other thing...
But today it rains on, and the mountain is mist-ified
With Toby already gone, now Billy has gently died