Sanoja: Falling Up. Fangs!. The King's Garden.

The sky has scrapers now
The streets are made of clothes
Embroidered on every single sleeve
Some of us have seen
The Golden Arrows poised
Arc across the plaints
Turns us pale
Some of us have seen
The Golden Arrows poised
Arc across the plaints
Turns us pale
So this is where the shapes begin to drip
Her drunk teeth fluttering in the wind