With a burning candle
|
A book of holy things
|
They'll throw you up against the wall
|
Bind your hands with string
|
Caught in the sudden shower
|
Our host of heavenly Kings
|
They're all victims of circumstance
|
Of ancient bells that bring
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All the fear in the world, naked and shy
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Down upon our heads, with no reason why
|
|
And though voices may holler
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For all they're worth
|
The rabbits have fled their burrows
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Gone to earth
|
|
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Gone to Earth
|
| David Sylvian |
