But through my hands slip red

But through my hands slip red
and pungent bristles,
and my fingers a sieve.
All is lost
All is lost
Cry raven and rook,
the snakes hide in their holes
and we weep onto the thirsty earth.
All angels fled
and serpents for our love.
A crack across the sky
a scar upon our brow
an ocean dry
and a cloven lip
and my hands a sieve.