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A sliver of chalk across the blue |
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Lord knows I don't know what the hell's the use of the midday moon |
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You came to my arms too goddamn soon |
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Lord knows I don't know what to do with you and the midday moon |
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This is just to say |
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They've taken everything away |
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Every step we made fit into six trucks |
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Pick-ups drawing dust above the driveway |
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The muddy cavalcade came at half past eight |
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Collecting everything in that grassy bank |
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And every trace of you was taken too |
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And what was once a womb is just a hollow room |
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It was a windy day |
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That kind that makes me hate L.A. |
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'Cause God gave them a perfect sun |
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And they think gangs and smog were hardly a fair trade |
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They don't breathe or flinch |
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Or even blink at how the green will shift |
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When the wind parades across the meager ridge |
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And kicks the weeds a bit to make seem as if the lea is a sea of waves |
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They say you can't cheat death |
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Maybe it's just a shortness of breath |
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Or no pains in your chest |
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A disease we agree that we ain't cured yet |
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Forgive me dear |
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I never thought that we'd end up here |
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From |
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"sweet dreams" |
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whispered in your ear |
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Before a long night's sleep so cold and clear |
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A sliver of chalk across the blue |
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Lord knows I don't know what the hell's the use of the midday moon |
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You came to my arms too goddamn soon |
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Lord knows I don't know what to do with you and the midday moon |
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I've been told that when we die we pass onto the other side |
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there's no bright light, no bright light. |
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Death is just a pasture gate that opens by lifting a plank |
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To just more life, just more life |
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I met an old man, sun-tanned, provided by Jesus |
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And the light that passed through stain glassed pieces |
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He clutched a rosary flat to his chest |
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And confessed he wasn't ready for death |
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I seen an iron eyed firefly, femme fatale |
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Too vain to explain how her hair fell out |
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Lusting for the next thing to erase her shame |
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She doesn't want to live forever, but she's scared to fade away |
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This is how they came to me, one at a time |
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Pilgrims to my building on the cemetery ground |
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All they wanted was an answer and I could never let 'em down |
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I couldn't promise them forever but I could buy a lot of time |
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You Jeanvieve, you were the straw |
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Whispering your wishes in cotton Quebeois |
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I wonder if the Maker ever felt he botched the flock |
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But never had the mettle to make the world stop |
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Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop |
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I wonder if the maker ever felt he botched the flock |
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But never had the mettle to make the world stop |
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Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop |
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I wonder if the maker ever felt he botched the flock |
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But never had the mettle to make the world stop |
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Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop |
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Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop |
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A sliver of chalk across the blue |
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Lord knows I don't know what the hell's the use of the midday moon |
|
You came to my arms too goddamn soon |
|
Lord knows I don't know what to do with you and the midday moon |
|
A sliver of chalk across the blue |
|
Lord knows I don't know what the hell's the use of the midday moon |
|
You came to my arms too goddamn soon |
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Lord knows I don't know what to do with you and the midday moon |
