Though the needle in my fire
may have the strength to heal alone.
In your heart I hope there's a choir
on which creation is reborn.

black and white
don't fill your eyes
with our requiem

Though those last words I can't even sing
and I am sure that will not change in time.
I hope your walls aren't closing in
as I sit and drink the cup of bitterwine.

Though the needle in my eye
may have the strength to heal your wounds.
Remember the heart of every choir
where lost lovers sing alone.

they're always awake
at the soul's hour
in covered delirium

All those last words I can't even sing
but I am sure that will change in time.
I sure hope your walls aren't closing in
as I sit and drink the cup of bitterwine.

so as I walk this tired ground
for your Sunday Castle.
You are watching the day moon through
foreign lands and darkened windows.

Before the weave is undone
our pain is abandoned.
I was completely wrong.
You taught me that lesson.