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I saw a girl who'd found her consolation |
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She said, |
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"One day my Prince of Peace will come." |
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Above her head a portrait of her father |
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The wilted favour that he gave her still fastened to the frame |
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"They've got his bones and everything he owns |
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I've got his name." |
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Well you can laugh at this sentimental story |
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But in time you'll have to make amends |
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The sudden chill where lovers doubt their immortality |
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As the clouds cover the sky, the evening ends |
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Describing a picture of eyes finally closing |
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As you sometimes glimpse terrible faces in the fire |
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We'll I'm the lucky goon who composed this tune |
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From birds arranged on the high wire |
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Who on earth is tapping at the window? |
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Does that face still linger at the pane? |
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I saw you shiver though the room was like a furnace |
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A shadow of regret across a young mother's face |
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So toll the bell or rock the cradle |
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Please don't let me fear anything I cannot explain |
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I can't believe, I'll never believe |
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In anything again |
