It started with the moon
|
that turned an inexpensive room into St. Peter's
|
There's a parabolic story but it's boring
|
and it ends how you'd expect.
|
Forever dressing down
|
I'm like a stranger
|
hanging round outside the kingdom hall
|
I'd've carried your wedding shawl
|
you could've said I was a school friend
|
|
And you drag your holy horse cart
|
in the sky when I wake up
|
They say it's just the sun
|
But I know that face
|
|
Excavating down
|
you'd find the drowning
|
and the drowned
|
and then there's a space
|
You could walk to our memorial
|
but it's pouring
|
and it ends how you'd expect.
|
I'd dig your dresses out
|
and hang 'em round about the house
|
and turn the lights down low
|
now you're everywhere I go
|
looking faintly disappointed
|
|
And you drag your holy horse cart
|
in the sky when I wake up
|
They say it's just the sun
|
But I know that face
|
|
The devil's tricks just seem to sit
|
so light on you
|
They'd never get the marionette
|
that's tied on you
|
|
In the parliamentary houses
|
there'll be talk of what this is
|
with inexpert witnesses
|
and evidence against us
|
But I'll take my pound of substance
|
from those insubstantial men
|
whatever their arguments
|
I'll prove your innocence
|
|
Drag your holy horse cart
|
in the sky when I wake up
|
Oh yeah
|
Testify allegiance with more
|
punctured wounds than Jesus
|
Oh yeah
|
|
Every statue's weeping honey
|
and it makes my sight go funny
|
'cause I'm over-sympathetic
|
and I can't control myself
|
Leave that painful memory
|
in the Garden of Gethsemane
|
Oh yeah,
|
oh yeah
|
|
-----------------
|
Gethsemane
|
| Dry The River |
