| It seems there’s a darkness in things
|
| The moon, the sea, the early light
|
| And I abide, by the darkness of things
|
| The moon, the seed, the early light
|
| And I abide, I do abide
|
| Faith has kept our stomachs dry
|
| Now ride on this blind horse
|
| Carry you home
|
| Your clothes they are soiled
|
| Your eyes raw from weeping
|
| Now how can they wash their hands so clean?
|
| After wooing you into a tomb of perfumed skin and infamy
|
| I cleaned these streets looking for a piece of you
|
| A tooth or a matchbook, a wedding shoe
|
| But it seems there’s a darkness in things
|
| The moon, the sea, the early light
|
| And I abide by the darkness of things
|
| The moon, the sea, the early light
|
| And I abide, I do abide
|
| A faith has kept our stomachs dry
|
| Now ride on this blind horse
|
| Carry you home
|
| Your gold glove marauding
|
| You’re lovesick from dreaming
|
| Now how can they wash their hands so clean?
|
| After wooing you into a tomb of perfumed skin and infamy |