Song | Le Chatiment Du Traitre |
Artist | Rome |
Album | Nos Chants Perdus |
To protest the moon | |
To protest the idea of sleep | |
To balance our calm and our urgency | |
To protest their notion of fraternity and race | |
I never masked my grief | |
So come show your face | |
Come out to breathe just for a while | |
And do not neglect your guile | |
Come home, come home, for the trials of rome. | |
Now you try to break free | |
With more courage than skill | |
And what worried me then | |
And worries me still | |
Is that you can't stab a king in the dark | |
And you need that initial spark to be pure | |
And you need to be sure of your shot | |
So bury me beneath their arenas | |
While the scent still lingers | |
This icy ring has turned my hand | |
So cold and so numb | |
Now it's time to bare the secrets you wear | |
At your throat and be gone | |
All tired and naked | |
I'd trade my gun for a blanket | |
And get some sleep tonight | |
To wear tomorrow's scars with pride | |
I can still smell it on you | |
The spell they put on you | |
For what has been repressed | |
Shall leak out through the cracks | |
Have you come to run astray with me? | |
Bound to know a few secrecies? | |
So nod your thanks to me | |
For these are the gifts that custom demands | |
Lemons and tea and a letter that grants | |
Freedom and obscurity | |
To protest the moon | |
To protest the idea of sleep | |
To balance our calm and our urgency | |
To protest their notions | |
Of fraternity and race | |
I never masked my grief | |
So come show your face | |
To protest the moon | |
To protest the idea of sleep | |
To balance our calm and our urgency… |
To protest the moon | |
To protest the idea of sleep | |
To balance our calm and our urgency | |
To protest their notion of fraternity and race | |
I never masked my grief | |
So come show your face | |
Come out to breathe just for a while | |
And do not neglect your guile | |
Come home, come home, for the trials of rome. | |
Now you try to break free | |
With more courage than skill | |
And what worried me then | |
And worries me still | |
Is that you can' t stab a king in the dark | |
And you need that initial spark to be pure | |
And you need to be sure of your shot | |
So bury me beneath their arenas | |
While the scent still lingers | |
This icy ring has turned my hand | |
So cold and so numb | |
Now it' s time to bare the secrets you wear | |
At your throat and be gone | |
All tired and naked | |
I' d trade my gun for a blanket | |
And get some sleep tonight | |
To wear tomorrow' s scars with pride | |
I can still smell it on you | |
The spell they put on you | |
For what has been repressed | |
Shall leak out through the cracks | |
Have you come to run astray with me? | |
Bound to know a few secrecies? | |
So nod your thanks to me | |
For these are the gifts that custom demands | |
Lemons and tea and a letter that grants | |
Freedom and obscurity | |
To protest the moon | |
To protest the idea of sleep | |
To balance our calm and our urgency | |
To protest their notions | |
Of fraternity and race | |
I never masked my grief | |
So come show your face | |
To protest the moon | |
To protest the idea of sleep | |
To balance our calm and our urgency |