Shouting Distance - Benoît Pioulard

You’d cut a man down when his life is at its sweetest

Cos he yearns to be found where the lamplight’s weakest

The picking of battles like new persimmons

Not high in the saddle but torn to ribbons

Oh the time the tone will lag & rush

Traced in placid places growing flush

Oh the time the tone will rush & lag

Preside over design with smoldered drags

A mural of moments of sharing progression

Vireos on wires to sing hymns of confession

They’ll rouse a man’s fear when it’s dormant as winter

As the yen to be near fetters faith into splinters

Oh the tone the time will lag & rush

His eye is on a sparrow & the thrush

Oh the tone the time will rush & lag

As the roofs & eaves deteriorate & sag