Of Sorry Eyes In March — My Dying Bride

Destiny marks your life With a knowing finger The act of desire Has walked on by And ancient sorrow Limps from your eyes It’s just your tears Left to eat

Flies lie dying On your sorry lips And on young loves Broken wings And the stone That lets you drown You are not worth Stopping for

The Earth, with all Its blessing And the endless Fathoms of night Lay a raft of gold For you My field here Is where we end.