| When I’m shivering in the morning dust again
|
| Then I sliver stale bread and give it to the doves
|
| They are fluttering around me at the old marketplace
|
| And then I worship somehow when we’re thinking out loud
|
| What’s the chapel of mine?
|
| I begged you as we walked the brown meadows
|
| All the colours were much more intense 'cause it had rained before
|
| And the chapels I know are warm and inside
|
| Are multi-entwined aisles I need to define
|
| So that I could see its tortuous structures
|
| I thought that you
|
| Could lead me through
|
| When I’m shivering in the morning dust again
|
| Then I sliver stale bread and give it to the doves
|
| They are fluttering around me at the old marketplace
|
| And I worship somehow when we’re thinking out loud
|
| What’s the chapel of mine?
|
| I begged you as we walked the brown meadows
|
| All colours were much more intense 'cause it’d rained before
|
| What’s the chapel of mine?
|
| I begged you as we walked the brown meadows
|
| All colours were much more intense 'cause it’d rained before
|
| You believe to be on an ill-fated ship
|
| But got enough time, live a satisfying life on it
|
| And where all common-sense is gone
|
| People want the chapels for their own
|
| You believe to be on an ill-fated ship
|
| But got enough time, live a satisfying life on it
|
| And where all common-sense is gone
|
| People want the chapels for their own
|
| And where all common-sense is gone
|
| People want the chapels for their own
|
| And where all common-sense is gone
|
| People want the chapels for their own
|
| And where all common sense is gone
|
| People want the chapels for their own
|
| And the chapels I know are warm and inside
|
| Are multi-entwined aisles I need to define
|
| So that I could see its tortuous structures
|
| I thought that you
|
| Could lead me through |