Your skin is cold
|
But the sun shines within your hold
|
Your hair is gold
|
But you see through a goldfish bowl
|
I feel old, sick, and tired
|
We walk the streets
|
Gently staring, wondering what to do
|
The sun in sheets
|
Pouring down those streets to eyes green and blue
|
And a ship with eight sails could come round the bend
|
Or a heard of bulls charging stoplights red
|
I'd be blind
|
|
You broke my heart, danny boy
|
Not your fault, danny boy
|
I was had at the doorstep
|
Played, like a two to a four-set
|
Had, like poor job in the bible by god
|
|
Day comes, i wake
|
I wake with a hard heartache
|
I go down to your place
|
We sit and chat about new york
|
And trips to the bayou
|
My smile, a trick
|
Tricking me and trying not to scare you
|
And a ship with eight sails could come round the bend
|
Or a heard of bulls charging stoplights red
|
I'd be blind
|
|
You broke my heart, danny boy
|
Not your fault, danny boy
|
I was had at the doorstep
|
Played, like a two to a four-set
|
Had, like poor job in the bible by god
|
|
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|
Danny Boy
|
| Rufus Wainwright |
