Haven't seen the sun for seven days
|
November's got her nails dug in deep
|
Haven't seen my son for seven years
|
And the chances are we'll never again meet
|
|
If truth be told I don't even know his name
|
If truth be told he doesn't even know my name
|
|
I spend my spare time with my rosary beads
|
Although I never learnt to pray
|
But you don't need the light
|
And it's best to pretend
|
That you've seen the errors of your ways
|
|
The darkness in here
|
Is as heavy as a judgement
|
This darkness, heavy as a judgement
|
|
My dreams are now filled with Gilead trees
|
And other sights that I've never seen
|
They used to be filled
|
With the fears of tomorrow
|
And the horror that it might bring
|
|
His eyes felt to me
|
As cold as a stone mason's chisel
|
His eyes fell on me, cold
|
Like a stone mason's chisel
|
|
Strange how a mind can always recall
|
What the senses eagerly leave behind
|
I can remember his face, rage,
|
Disgust and distaste
|
But to my fear I have grown blind
|
|
Memories are just dead men making trouble
|
This memory is just a dead man making trouble
|
|
-----------------
|
Seven Years
|
| Cowboy Junkies |
