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07.Turn The Bells |
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. |
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|
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The market-place has nothing to sell |
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Left alone its awnings shiver |
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Wind whistles through the wood |
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Fish teeth snapping in a river |
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Peaks puncture the sky, like a child's icy toes |
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Dipped in a stream, that a few of us know |
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And the clouds just a ripple? |
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A shock from the impact? |
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. |
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Shadows on the street, look like veils at morning |
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Ice blots in the stone cracks, where tears must have fallen |
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Oil by the bucket feeds flares to the heavens |
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Offerings of incense, small bills and lemons |
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Drumbeats in the caves and heartbeats in the huts |
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Protectors unveiled for the first time in months |
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. |
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You find some best friends, |
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We'll hold each other |
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And I'll turn the bells, I'll turn the bells |
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You find some best friends, |
| [02:13.19] |
We'll hold each other |
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And I'll turn the bells, I'll turn the bells |
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. |
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The storm clouds pass and everything's for sale |
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The chattering of rapids and bartering of sunset |
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Beads crunch like bones through fingers and knuckles |
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Poor hands pick cheap quartz, in the quarries and cliff-edge |
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. |
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A group of sandalwood trees, with clotted blood coloured bark |
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Candle-lit teeth, half-moon smiles in the dark |
| [03:19.24] |
The biker gangs smoking on the edge of the lake |
| [03:23.44] |
The smoke like white horses a white-eyed mistake |
| [03:27.40] |
There's spirits in the water like photos in a box |
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They're torn by the current and crushed by the rocks |
| [03:35.53] |
. |
| [03:38.84] |
You find some best friends, |
| [03:44.65] |
We'll hold each other |
| [03:48.78] |
And I'll turn the bells, I'll turn the bells |
| [03:57.09] |
You find some best friends, |
| [04:02.97] |
We'll hold each other |
| [04:07.09] |
And I'll turn the bells, I'll turn the bells |