Eleven Doors Video (MV)

I picked apart the buds of May
With silent wish, with salt and spray
From ports of call on sunset days

Spectrum's sere with scripted shrouds
Eleven doors, for heavens crowds
A floating sphere of ringing sounds

So spill your fictions down the drain
And I will swill your diction til'
The storm rain paints our shadows still
The storm rain paints our shadows still

Come on now baby, bring me the thunder
In a cauldron small
Summon up the dredges of a churning old earth
With a staff of bone
And pagan calls

When all the seasons lie in state
And darkness falls when hours grow late
When all your fictions billow forth
And drown the sun, the south and the north

When all is quiet on the span
The task is plainly clear
To these silent scenes
Te sing a song of suffering sound

When words surrender sense to dust
And wisdom falls to serpents' trust
We sing this song of suffering sound
We sing this song of suffering sound