I can see by the light of a broken sky That you're on the mend The photograph of your broken hearted eyes Will fade and bend I can see your face, A black
What is it in nature which lends its hand To the tongues of young wondering lovers in flight That by the silent boot of a dying word A scythe was taught
Ceramic tile fluorescent, yellow iodine I can feel your presence Sedated by the heavy medicine And come around, come around, come around The flowers
I can hear you sleeping Like a softly penned letter That you plan on keeping Sound asleep next to me Under the ink of a drying sky If I were a wordsmith
sound asleep in an ocean of crashes sound asleep in pouring black rain bedside voices praying with tears of ashes stung by the salt of weepig skies
A song for when you go to keep you company, A song for when you go so you'll think of me. A song for when you go to California, West of the city lights
On my father's legacy Is handed down by angels' wings A bittersweet melody Is now mine to sing Every precious memory And broken hearted tragedy Will walk
Never, never ending Constant motion, constancy Forever complicated, Always overkill, yeah Never, never for me Never silent, never for me Always overkill
The brackish roots of river pine Anchored in my curving spine Bend to the whims of wind's design And I lay down at your side Above the brine of reds
The islands off the coast are on fire Yellow and crimson Just beyond calico beach The fire's ascension Of gasoline Burned red and green Is like the blazing
Hold your tongue and walk away Say it's been a lovely day Say tomorrow evening's fine Meet me by St. John's divine Until discordant bells have rung Hold
the fall Of should I take the stairs Have I already fallen over And now spinning in the air I don't know 'Cause I'm in this vertigo Leaning from a precipice
to remember these things I'm pretending we're in Prague picking sodas by the square And the clock brought the masses to the ceremony there Every hour little
Fate will find a way, for you On golden wings and leaden shoes All the way to the house our father knew And this angry storm of slamming doors And broken
Vertaling: Jump, Little Children. Duizeligheid.
