Contained in my cotton crib
|
Where I feel no turbulence
|
The ocean sleeps upon a shelf
|
And it feeds my apathy
|
|
But I can feel it in the night
|
Like rain upon my skin
|
Inside a winter
|
Would you begin to splinter
|
If I decide to recognize my thorns
|
|
Cause every time I see your face in a cloud
|
I feel no violence
|
So tilt the water
|
Till it turns me around
|
To my own asylum
|
|
Dry in the day
|
And fading away in the night
|
|
I feel the sun before it's light
|
And it fades away into the night
|
I was afraid; I'd feed myself
|
I cleared the shelf
|
And killed the shame
|
|
But I can feel it in the night
|
Collect the rocks
|
And throw them over borders
|
To shake the muddy waters
|
And clear myself
|
From hiding every thorn
|
|
Cause every time I see your face in a cloud
|
I feel no violence
|
So tilt the water
|
Till it turns me around
|
To my own asylum
|
Dry in the day
|
And fading away.........
|
|
And we grow in a garden
|
From a garden where all that we know
|
You're just a fool for him.
|
|
Cause every time I see your face in a cloud
|
I feel no violence
|
So tilt the water
|
Till it turns me around
|
To my own asylum
|
|
Dry in the day and fading away
|
Dry in the day and fading away
|
Dry in the day and fading away
|
................in the night.
|
|
-----------------
|
Asylum
|
| Silverchair |
