S. Colvin
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It is the dead of the night
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Oh the dead of the night
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I live on a dream, it came to me
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When I was young
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I brought it here, and now for years
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The streets of London keep it safe and warm
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Every morning it dies and it is reborn
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In the dead of the night
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I keep a pencil and a book
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I say this is how a life can look
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Russian roulette, French-kissed cigarette
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And the silence like an anvil
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The things that you learn, but now all
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that burns
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Is a candle
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And the fog melts over the night, and
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it softens the edges
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I begin to write in the dead of the night
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A bead of sweat runs down my arm
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And I drink it from my skin
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It is the most real thing that I feel
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It is communion
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Bless the meek
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Heal the sick
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Protect the weak
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In the dead of the night
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The Dead of the Night
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| Shawn Colvin |
