| My darling, my darling
|
| Are you as composed as the space you fill?
|
| You know there’s little reason to demand
|
| What can’t be given from the heads you fill
|
| And you aim your thoughts homeward
|
| As if you had a reason to be gone
|
| And you were raised by sirens they taught you not to talk
|
| All words are empty
|
| But they lent you their hats,
|
| Screaming bring back from the other side some sympathy
|
| And your spend no time to wonder
|
| When you claim to know the answer
|
| Why be wrong
|
| So you put on your painted dress
|
| While the badass takes your hand and tempts you homeward
|
| And so I’ve heard
|
| That you’ve gone wrong
|
| But is it OK
|
| If I think of you
|
| 'Cause you might just be
|
| What I’m counting on
|
| Just one more day
|
| That I must get through
|
| Well you break just like the morning
|
| And if yesterday don’t know you
|
| Well who does then
|
| And if you ever seek me out
|
| I’ll be someone among the people you call?
|
| Well you’d love to be a martyr
|
| But you got nothing to die for
|
| So you wait
|
| And wintertime is coming
|
| You can feel the cold drum drumming once again
|
| And so I’ve heard that you’ve gone wrong
|
| But is it OK
|
| If I think of you
|
| Cause you might just be
|
| What I’m counting on
|
| Just one more day
|
| That I must get through
|
| Well I love my country
|
| I love my country
|
| But I fear your mother
|
| I fear your mother
|
| And she’s growing older
|
| Or so they told her
|
| And flowers wont replace her
|
| Your my sheath, I’m your rapier
|
| And so I’ve heard
|
| That you’ve gone wrong
|
| But is it OK
|
| If I think of you
|
| 'Cause you might just be
|
| What I’m counting on
|
| Just one more day
|
| That I must get through
|
| That I must get through |