| Winter comes hunting like a wolf on the wind
|
| And the lovers lie unknowing in their beds
|
| It won’t be long before the cold and the snow
|
| Kill off the flowering armies that summer’s led
|
| You dig for your last smoke as the highway leads you home
|
| And this day’s going down in a flame
|
| And evening is a reminder of the beauty of the end
|
| And that the end might be the reason why we came
|
| Night’s handing silence to the hillsides where you walk
|
| But you want that deeper silence that stays up in them hills
|
| The field is a lover with her colors at your knees
|
| But you know there are stranger flowers still
|
| And somehow you tell yourself that
|
| Like a rain could: «I'll be back again.»
|
| But as you pull up to your house
|
| You know that you can’t go in…
|
| Until the day burns down
|
| We live the long walk of a question, my friends
|
| I think about my sister out in the rain;
|
| And all the heroes I know that she’ll never find
|
| And that she’ll never leave as perfect as she came
|
| My mind is a symphony in the dark
|
| And my heart is an old museum
|
| With all of these memories that I keep
|
| I got to get back to where the sun raised the flowers
|
| And the flowers they raise me
|
| And somehow you tell yourself that
|
| Like a rain cloud: «I'll be back again.»
|
| But as you pull up to your house
|
| You know that you can’t go in…
|
| Until the day burns down
|
| Winter comes hunting like a wolf on the wind
|
| And the lovers lie unknowing in their beds
|
| It won’t be long before the cold and the snow
|
| Kill off the flowering armies that summer’s led
|
| You dig for your last smoke as the highway leads you home
|
| And this day’s going down in a flame
|
| And evening is a reminder of the beauty of the end
|
| And that the end might be the reason why we came
|
| If I could hang the stars up
|
| I’d hang 'em up one by one
|
| To leave this world with something my hands made
|
| And when that sun came up and made 'em all disappear
|
| I’d know my work was real, because nothing real can stay
|
| Somehow you tell yourself that
|
| Like a rain cloud: «I'll be back again.»
|
| And as you pull up to your house
|
| You know that you can’t go in…
|
| Until the day burns down |