Painters of the Tempest, Pt. II (Triptych Lux)

Come forth, dark herald, bringer of light

Born by the burning swans and his plague breath

Creator of the dream coil

A halo aloft as hands entwine

Painters of the tempest

With their red hands

The world, their canvas

Through the mist of the storm glass

And Bruegel dreamt the angels above

As Bosch danced in earthly delight

Angels fall into the canvas

Reaching for the light

Heaven is empty

And all the beauty is here

Upon this bone palette, the sway of nine tails

Layered lashings of euphoria and chaos

Triptychs unfold like wings

As the arms of our fathers

Bear the weight of what they've done

Anti-matter martyrs

Warmth of life, where they sing of fire

Children's eyes, for they all shine

As tears rise, oceans of flame billow

When all dreams lose hope

(And Bruegel wept for the fading sun) angels fall into the canvas

Reaching for the light, heaven is empty (where have all)

As hell below (the angels gone?)

As hell below (gone)

Painted by ghosts

Lords of lifeless eyes in this garden of wilted flowers

Vultures spake the mother tongue

Hear the children, a breathless sleep

Where they dream a new day

Echoing, oh, when they dream

Ebb and flow, free falling

Ooh-oh, beautiful and calm and fragile and whole

Where they dream a new day

Ooh-oh, through the coil, they course and carousel

Echoes, ooh-ah

Hear the lost children

Hear the children sing

Through the coil, they carousel

Within this stained-glass womb

They sing with open minds

Within this stained-glass womb

They see with open minds

The event horizon and beyond

A wasteland so barren

Haunted by a sea of pale faces

The city of lost children

Raising their death-shrouded flags

Can you hear the red drum pounding?

The heartbeat of many as one

Curator, father, what have we become?

Radiance, blinding horizon

The brilliant sunrise, their horizons

Where they seize this life

Our children, painters they are

They are the change

Painters