Dust

You may call a world unreal. The world may think otherwise.

Dust and stone
and rocks and sticks
this was your city
built from brick

On the sea made of sand
by the hand of the hour
there's a boat built from blood
run on wavering power

Power in faith
Power of wind
Lost in the desert
on animal wings

On the sea made of sand
there's a little lost lamb
pulled forth by the Shephard
that lost his flock
And following a tramp
of plague-ridden stock

On the sea made of sand
there's a girl in red
running away from a wolf
raised from the dead

On the sea made of sand
the Angels are smuggled
through ruin and wreck
to the ship's ruddy deck

In the desert they meet
in the desert they speak
the last little kin
lived with thier sin

All the others
They drowned
Beneath the wavering ground

Dust and stone
and rocks and sticks
this was your city
built from brick