Less talk, more dancing
|
If we could push off the sick conversation one more night
|
I surely would
|
My shoes have gathered the dust of the vineyard
|
Have I soiled your gown?
|
There's soil on your gown, like sangria
|
Cleanses the heart
|
Our clogged hearts are choking on the grime
|
As the big band waltzes on
|
Your stranded eyes whisper...
|
|
"The dirt is out.
|
I can smell her on your velvet hands."
|
The dirt is out --
|
are we stuck in the motions again?
|
|
Oh, but was it sweet
|
In the vineyard
|
Sangria, won't you bless
|
The starving lips
|
Such virgin lips
|
Would choke on all this grime
|
I've found some dirt under my nails
|
I'll scratch and bite until...
|
|
The dirt is out
|
but sangria burns under my skin
|
The dirt is out --
|
I thought I'd never wash these hands again
|
|
Under my skin....
|
|
-----------------
|
The Dirt Of The Vineyard
|
| Cursive |
