Come over here
|
Whisper into my ear
|
Don't waste your breath
|
On anyone else
|
But me.
|
|
And warm
|
Your body in bed
|
Let us wake up and talk a while
|
I tell you i'm scared
|
I tell you I'd fight for
|
Us both
|
But you come from the town
|
Where ghandi was born
|
And you say I always talk tough
|
When I get drunk
|
So why don't we pray
|
Whispering the
|
Future language of slaves
|
|
I should rejoice
|
Maybe give voice to a song
|
For what brought me here to your arms
|
Into our painfully true love
|
And god maybe close
|
God only knows
|
Really to say.
|
And what would we do in our last moments
|
In time.
|
Would we make love
|
Or make haste to a mobile phone
|
Or would we break bread
|
Drink the blood that is shed
|
And pray to our god
|
Whispering the
|
Future language of slaves
|
|
-----------------
|
The Future Language Of Slaves
|
| Hawksley Workman |
