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It's four A.M. November ten, a strange electric hour |
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I'm swallowing the morning of your flower |
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Petal by petal I'm laying you bare, red as any rose is |
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(watch her as she opens and she closes) |
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Let me turn your tears into wine |
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Let me turn your darkest hour into light |
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Let me turn your crow into a dove |
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Let me be the one to make you love |
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It's four A.M. November ten, a vague and hazy time |
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You lie asleep, you're breathing like a child |
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I'm writing with my poet's hand |
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To reach you with my pen |
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I know that I can make you love again |
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Let me turn your tears into wine |
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Let me turn your darkest hour into light |
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Let me turn your crow into a dove |
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Let me be the one to make you love |
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In those words I create you |
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Into someone who will |
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Always come back |
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Once you've closed the door. |
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Into someone who will never refuse |
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When I ask for more. |
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But if I think I can own you |
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With some lavender prose |
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Or a violet song, I am wrong. |
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And if I think I can have you |
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With a salty kiss or a sultry dance, |
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Well, I can't. |
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Let me turn your tears into wine |
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Let me turn your darkest hour into light |
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Let me turn your crow into a dove |
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Let me be the one to make you love |
