|
You are everywhere, within and without |
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Where it don't matter what we used to do now |
|
Where I feed my people, when I get behind the plow |
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When I write the tiger hanging on by his eyebrows |
|
Somehow where the gang in me |
|
Is being all that it can be |
|
Somehow part hope is a plan |
|
And part vigilante streak |
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When I reel my Irish in |
|
When I sleep on the train |
|
In straight lines through shadows, you're there |
|
Where the future lies |
|
Under no moon at night |
|
At the ballroom hanging, you're there |
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You are there when I stop writing things down |
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And when I forget about who I am now |
|
Forget about who's kissing her and who's behind my plow |
|
Now it's time to drown all of that poetry out |
|
Somehow where democracy |
|
Is how we all learn to sleep |
|
With ourselves drawing to ourselves |
|
Everything we can carry |
|
When I reel my Irish in |
|
When I sleep in the rain |
|
In straight lines through shadows, you're there |
|
Where the future lies |
|
Under no moon at night |
|
At the ballroom hanging, you're there |
|
There's no escaping |
|
This dream we're dancing |
|
With no distractions |
|
When I reel my Irish in |
|
When I sleep on the plane |
|
In straight lines through shadows, you're there |
|
Where the future lies |
|
Under no moon at night |
|
At the ballroom hanging, you're there |
|
You're everywhere |
|
You're there |
|
You're everywhere |
|
You're there |
|
You're everywhere |
|
You're there |
|
You're everywhere |
|
You're there |
