| There’s no more room for angels
|
| To dance or even stand
|
| Upon this pin entangled
|
| Bleeding sugar from our hands
|
| Bleeding ashes from our feet
|
| Won’t you help me count my sheep
|
| Won’t you help me count my sheep tonight
|
| You make your heart a decoration
|
| It’s like a broken violin
|
| So carefully made empty
|
| Taking only silence in
|
| Taking saccharine to kill your pain
|
| Won’t you help me stripping cane
|
| Won’t you help me stripping cane tonight
|
| Stripping cane for something sweet
|
| Stripping cane, a man complete is born
|
| His heart a thing to hold both dark and light
|
| Stripping cane, no tongue can tell
|
| The silent ring of this empty bell
|
| Won’t you tell me fare thee well
|
| Fare thee well tonight
|
| I’ve got nowhere to go now
|
| I’m like a bird in an eclipse
|
| And the grammar of our bodies
|
| Breathing poems to our lips
|
| Breathing verses out of rhyme
|
| Won’t you help me killing time
|
| Won’t you help me killing time tonight
|
| There’s no more room for angels
|
| To dance or even stand
|
| Upon this pin entangled
|
| Bleeding sugar from our hands
|
| Bleeding ashes from our feet
|
| Won’t you help me count my sheep
|
| Won’t you help me count my sheep tonight
|
| Won’t you help me count my sheep tonight
|
| Won’t you help me |