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Flung wide, the salutations |
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The deep curse and the shutters close |
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A spring house, in the making |
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On good earth |
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Of my many'd souls in my soul |
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And fears I don't know |
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I hear there's a march we should go |
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Lost on this road, are there any real sundays to find? |
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Unbound, on the rising |
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The pell mell of the miser kings |
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As you saw what I'm seeing |
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Oh you'd thaw from the fires |
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There's pace in your gait |
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And wake in your straights |
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I ache from the center out |
|
Lost on this road, are there any real sundays to find? |
|
Lost on this road, are there any real souls? |
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Don't hear what I hear |
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Don't see what I see |
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Don't leave what I must leave behind |
|
Lost on this road, are there any real sundays to find? |
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This stop, I am hunger |
|
The deep well of a stranger held |
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And this heart, a lonely hunter now |
|
I'm lost on this road, are there any real sundays to find? |
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I'm lost on this road, are there any real souls? |
|
Are there any real souls to find? |
|
Are there any real souls to find? |
