Dominic and I went over the curve,
Eating our way down,
Millions of berries we didn't deserve,
Berries and thorns to make a crown.
A crown is a circle, a circle a curve;
Millions of berries we didn't deserve
And never a sorrow to make us frown,
Laughing our way down.
Supposing that berries should fall from the sky.
Would you put out your tongue?
Said Dominic to me. Said I,
Yes, and my hands. The clusters that hung
Free for the picking were God's, said I,
And splendid as anything money can't buy.
Juice from the vine I treated my tongue,
Lifted my voice, and sung.
Berries and brambles are God's I sing,
Raindrops fall on my head.
Raindrops keep falling, a silver string;
Red is for mercy and blood is red.
Blackberry thorns to crown a king;
Light thy torch and a candle bring;
Rain and justice a silver thread;
Mercy and blood are red.
Wriggle your shoulders, like this. Can you fly?
Think of a beautiful thought.
Sorrow is heavy and song is dry;
Feast on thee, carrion comfort, I'll not.
Sorrow is heavy, too heavy to fly;
Wriggle your shoulders again, you cry;
Mercy is bleeding on brambles caught;
Better to sing than not.
Mercy is red as a martyr's blood;
Death is a martyr's joke.
Open the gates to mercy's flood;
Let him rise till the gates be broke.
Red is the martyrs' chalice of blood;
Now make a toast, for the jest was good;
Hark to the Word that mercy spoke:
Death is a splendid joke.