Figure hanging on a leather band
|
Cog consults the watch he cups in his hand
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Bejewelled movement measures lost and vanished time
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Pray for the boy who makes his bed in cold earth and quicklime
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|
[Chorus:]
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So stay the hands, arrest the time
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Till I am captured by your touch
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Blessings I don't count
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Small mercies and such
|
The flags may lower as we approach the favourite hour
|
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Now there's a tragic waste of brutal youth
|
Strip and polish this unvarnished truth
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The tricky door that gapes beneath the ragged noose
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The crippled verdict begs again for the lamest excuse
|
|
[Chorus]
|
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Put out my eyes so I may never spy
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Waving branches as they're waving goodbye
|
Their vile perfume brings to my mouth a bitter taste
|
The murmuring brooks had best speak up, it's a terrible waste
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
-----------------
|
Favourite Hour
|
| Elvis Costello |
