| I was drifting on a reef,
|
| Looking through the trees below.
|
| Spitting from a fire I saw,
|
| A face my fingers used to know.
|
| You drew the laces of the night
|
| I poured a drink to pull them tight.
|
| Sleeping here beneath the wake,
|
| Of all the lights along the lake.
|
| I’ll be the perfect pair of boots.
|
| I’ll be the perfect winter coat.
|
| The Russian stole around your neck.
|
| I’ll be the fingers at your throat.
|
| You drew the laces of the night.
|
| I poured a drink to pull them tight.
|
| Sleeping here beneath the wake,
|
| Of all the lights along the lake.
|
| Everyone thinks that we’re okay,
|
| 'Cause they don’t hear what we don’t say.
|
| We found a saint that doesn’t care.
|
| And every footstep is a prayer.
|
| We found a saint that doesn’t care.
|
| And every footstep is a prayer. |