| Take my sword from the slaughter
|
| Melt it down into vapor, and my armor, too
|
| I hear hot blood flap and flutter
|
| From your temple to shoulder
|
| And all through you
|
| When you hold on to me it isn’t easy
|
| When you hold on to me isn’t fair
|
| But when there’s no key you find me there
|
| I’m turning white, I’m leaves of paper
|
| Turn my hands from this labor and lift me through
|
| When you hold onto me it isn’t easy
|
| But you should hold on to me
|
| It isn’t fair, but when there’s no key you find me there
|
| And kids get lost, lambs out wandering
|
| And bigger, blacker things come calling
|
| From outside a tiny garden
|
| Somebody once laid their hearts on
|
| And kids get lost, and kids get broken
|
| And their diaries get found and opened
|
| And their legs get led astray
|
| And then they lie inside some secret place
|
| Where the sun looks in the open ceiling
|
| And kids grow up, and kids stop feeling
|
| Kids, and feel adults, and face away
|
| But in last love dreams
|
| The lost and passed out of this world are softly sighing
|
| They’re trying to decide if they should leave the things that keep them crying
|
| And some will rise and keep on living with open eyes, with minds forgiven
|
| The river’s flowing is arrested
|
| And resumed after they’ve blessed it
|
| Over and over and over, and over and
|
| Over and over, and over again
|
| (It's over) |