There's a gold
shadow seeping through the door.
There's a cold
sparrow
lying still upon the floor.
Dead and true as lipstick,
slow as the speed of skin.
There's a gold,
gold shadow growing from within.
There's a bent willow
in the moonlight painted blue.
There's a spent window silhouetting you.
Deep and true as whiskey,
soft and sure as lies.
There's a bent,
bent willow
reflecting in your eyes.
But now
there's a girl out in a boat.
Her arms are outstretched and she's barely afloat.
There's a man on the shore,
a rope in his hands.
It's tied to the boat and he's pulling as hard as he can.
Not to bring her to him,
but to pull the whole shore and the whole world with it
to her open door.
All his voices are her.
All his voices are her.
All his voices are her.
All his voices are her.
Near,
before.
Nobody shows.
glimpse
trail
There's a silver distance
opening like a
trail
There
was a town before all the leaves Covered the beauty of Adam and Eve
And they were blind and they were
free To be whatever they wanted to be
But now they're just a prayer and a song
And he is so sorry for all that went wrong
All his voices are heard All his voices are heard
All his voices are heard
All his voices are heard
Has he been here before?
Has he been here before?
Has he been here before?