作曲 : Bubba Kadane/Matt Kadane
There are no chip stones in your cemetery smile
Your mouth doesn't dare to shake their graves
They bury it in military-style
But I noticed there was more in there
In that mouth that held so much cold air
Words as forgotten as what wasn't meant for hearing
You must have learned how to talk
From looking at vases
You know the ones with cracking masks
With Roman faces, and heroes count their graces
You know the kind with frozen lines
And edges as sharp as your soured wine
I really need your voice, but that doesn't rhyme [?

What were you trying to say to me?
Words as dead as the salt-sea
Spoken from the Nineteenth century, you see

It started off from the East
And worked it's way into my ear
And everything that I understood
I really didn't hear
Were the words spoken by your ghost
A fossilized, Turkish-Tehran host
Or maybe someone from an Anatolia coast
Maybe both