I am the reader in the church.
I am the silver in the birch.
You talk of post then raid the past. And set the record
spinning fast.
A perfect cast across the stream
that flows through your recurring dream.
Save only hopes and little jokes and collapse away.
That building collapsed the other day. I'm the believer
in the book.
A point of light.
Afraid to look at what you drew me on the bed.
Our form becoming line instead.
I spin it fast across the lake.
And sing the lament at the wake.
Save only hopes and little jokes and collapse the way
that building collapsed the other day.
Oh baby,
oh my baby.
Oh baby,
oh my love.
My baby,
oh my baby.
My baby,
oh my god.
