| The heart believes in something more than what’s been said
|
| The heart’s a two-faced fortune teller
|
| It strangles honesty and ties it to a post
|
| When a seat upon a barstool would be better
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh-ah-ah-ah-ah
|
| I do not dare to raise my head or move my limbs
|
| To see the valley in this state
|
| I fill my glass and let the evening take its shape
|
| Spinning knives with luckless lovers time and fate
|
| You’re shining still
|
| You’re a lantern on a hill
|
| And I would burn into the ground
|
| To take you home
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| Ah
|
| Louder grow the words that fall from fortune’s jagged lips
|
| The anchor and the diving bell
|
| And though I fear I may be rudderless at sea
|
| Aye, aye, I have searched for ground
|
| In deeper wells
|
| You’re shining still
|
| You’re a lantern on a hill
|
| And I would burn into the ground
|
| To take you home, home, home
|
| To take you home, home, home
|
| To take you home, home, home
|
| You’re shining still
|
| You’re a lantern on a hill
|
| And I would burn into the ground
|
| To take you
|
| Home, home
|
| Home, home
|
| The heart believes in something more than what’s been said
|
| The heart’s a two-faced fortune teller |