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Tale of the Tongue
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The time is coming ripe
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We are running fast
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I see you coming closer
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Closer to the mask
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Come closer treat me softly
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Where can the dreamer be?
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How far we've come to know
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How much we've come to see
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And when I ask you softly
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Oh what the real men saw
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As I hit the roof again
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Oh what the dreamer saw
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The street still screams
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The street still screams of garbage thoughts
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The stain of anxious guys
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Still we glimpse the faintest note
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Of some battered somnambulant men
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Of the desire to know the whys
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The street still screams
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Fixed notions fashion them
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Their rules police the street
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No chance of Latin way
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Hold down to crude belief
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Lassoed in the charges' web
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Locked inside the nation's pride
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To boast the red of freedom's move
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They take the purple side
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I'm told from day to day
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Gaol slip from behind
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We are the guards of our mistakes
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Off and running blind
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So the dreamer speaks in time drunk wine
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Take the coming day
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If I seem to lag behind
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Whisper me the way
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The street still screams
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Tale of the Tongue
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| Peter Murphy |
