|
I remember every detail of it |
|
The smells of the orange grove |
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Your dress, and the way it hung upon you |
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That look that was in your eyes |
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At that time in the day, the sun was weary |
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And that weariness bled to us |
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With your hands you could steady any vessel |
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And those hands wiped the blood from me |
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We are not the lions of the daylight, daylight |
|
We are more like wolves in dead of night, night |
|
We are more the raven in the schoolyard, schoolyard |
|
Than all the larks about to sing, sing |
|
I remember calm before this chaos |
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The sound as the coffee boiled |
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And the clear cup I watched the sugar melt in |
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In this stillness, a nagging thought |
|
We are not the lions of the daylight, daylight |
|
We are more like wolves in dead of night, night |
|
We are more the raven in the schoolyard, schoolyard |
|
Than all the larks about to sing, sing |
|
We are not the lions of the daylight, daylight |
|
We are more like wolves in dead of night, night |
|
We are more the raven in the schoolyard, schoolyard |
|
Than all the larks about to sing, sing |
