| The priest sat in the airport bar
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| He was wearing his father’s tie
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| And his eyes looked into my eyes so far
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| Whenever the words ran dry
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| Behind the lash and the circles blue
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| He looked as only a priest can, thru
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| And his eyes said me and his eyes said you
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| And my eyes said, let us try
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| He said, «You wouldn’t like it here
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| No it’s no place you should share
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| The roof is ripped with hurricanes
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| And the room is always bare
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| I need the wind and I seek the cold»
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| He reached post the wine for my hand to hold
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| And he saw me young and he saw me old
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| And he saw me sitting there
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| Then he took his contradictions out
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| And he splashed them on my brow
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| So which words was I then to doubt
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| When choosing what to vow
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| Should I choose them all-should I make them mine
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| The sermons, the hymns and the valentines
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| And he asked for truth and he asked for time
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| And he asked for only now
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| Now the trials are trumpet scored
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| Oh will we pass the test
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| Or just as one loves more and more
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| Will one love less and less
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| Oh come let’s run from this ring we’re in Where the Christians clap and the Germans grin
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| Saying let them lose, crying let them win
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| Oh make them both confess |