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Under that burning ether that falls |
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Down on these walls |
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Burning my arms |
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I've been alarmed of what is said by you. |
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For every word I could undo |
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I've been uncrossed, and I've been untrue |
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I've been the thorn, I've been the heart. |
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But the heart of my own - burn it down low |
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The light in your verse and the shadow between |
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The way that I was when I used to know. |
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If I go, what do I hold? |
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Oh, the maid or the mother I'll be |
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If only the loom and the thread were whole. |
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It is work to be dancing out here |
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If tomorrow I'm mending the empty bones. |
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There are roses that come without seeking, |
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They are the ones that I have to sow |
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In your verses that I am repeating |
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The way that I was when I used to know. |
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I wrote on these walls a simple charm to keep the wolves at bay. |
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Gave all my heart the strength of my arms |
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To hold you close and safe. |
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But I kept my eyes closed, I'll never know |
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Where the shadows are these days. |
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I stood in the room of a house divided |
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Ah, and it washed away from me |
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Oh, it washed away from me. |
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Oh, and it washed away from me |
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It washed away to take my own. |
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Burn it down low |
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The light in your verse and the shadow between |
|
The way that I was when I used to know. |
|
If I go, what do I hold? |
|
Oh, the maid or the mother I'll be |
|
If only the loom and the thread were whole. |
|
It is work to be dancing out here |
|
If tomorrow I'm mending the empty bones. |
|
There are roses that come without seeking, |
|
They are the ones that I have to sow |
|
In your verses that I am repeating |
|
The way that I was when I used to know. |
