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Well, my eyes won't pretend |
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I didn't know you were close |
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I can smell your breath |
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Through a freshly painted door |
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Stand here in your hast |
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While I pour three more glasses of Burgundy |
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And you can lick the dust from my bottle |
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Wall's bricked in books, pages bricked in words |
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Each mark is stained in your honor |
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Ground shadow staggers restless |
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From the window, across the candle to the corner |
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My blood and water's warm as you near me |
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I'm not begging for mercy |
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I see no love of mercy in you |
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I'm not begging for mercy |
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I'm only waiting for the sound |
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Of the morning birds to send you away |
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Wax is cooled, hard |
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Sights is going past the yard |
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In this house I make more shadows than you |
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Stand there in your coat |
|
While I pour from the second burgundy |
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And you can rattle the glass 'cross your belly |
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I'm not begging for mercy |
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I see no love of mercy in you |
|
I'm not begging for mercy |
|
I'm only waiting for the sound |
|
Of the morning birds to send you away |
|
I'm not begging for mercy |
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I'm really not begging for mercy |
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I'm only waiting for the sound |
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Of the morning birds to swallow you whole |
