Are we to speak, first day of the week
|
Stumbling words at the bar
|
Beauty blue eyes, my order of fries
|
Long island kindness and wine
|
Beloved of John, I get it all wrong
|
I read you for some kind of poem
|
Covered in lines, the fossils I find
|
Have they no life of their own?
|
|
So can we pretend sweetly
|
Before the mystery ends?
|
I am a man with a heart that offends
|
With its lonely and greedy demands
|
There’s only a shadow of me in a manner of speaking I'm dead
|
|
Such a waste, your beautiful face
|
Stumbling carpet arise
|
Go follow your gem, your white feathered friend
|
Icarus, point to the sun
|
If history speaks of two baby teeth
|
I’m painting the hills blue and red
|
They said beware, Lord hear my prayer
|
I’ve wasted my throes on your head
|
|
So can we be friends, sweetly
|
Before the mystery ends?
|
I love you more than the world can contain
|
In its lonely and ramshackle head
|
There’s only a shadow of me in a manner of speaking I'm dead
|
|
I’m holding my breath
|
My tongue on your chest
|
What can be said of my heart?
|
If history speaks, the kiss on my cheek
|
Where there remains but a mark
|
Beloved my John, so I’ll carry on
|
Counting my cards down to one
|
And when I am dead, come visit my bed
|
My fossil is bright in the sun
|
|
So can we contend, peacefully
|
Before my history ends?
|
Jesus I need you, be near me, come shield me
|
From fossils that fall on my head
|
There’s only a shadow of me in a manner of speaking I'm dead
|
|
-----------------
|
John My Beloved
|
| Sufjan Stevens |
