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When The Paint Grows Darker Still
par
Frank Black
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I am just a weary singer Moving through this world of ills Hark the choir of predecessors When the paint grows darker still Once I found a golden trumpet In the mash of an old landfill Now I play for the spirits When the paint grows darker still Winter waited in my garden When the sun did refuse to shine Honeybees all in a slumber Skies filled up the sea Falling down on me Winter waited in my garden When the sun did refuse to shine Honeybees are in a slumber Skies filled up the sea Falling down on me See his eyes turn to stained glass Head to toe in a black roadkill Here I am for your judgment When the paint grows darker still When the paint grows darker still When the paint grows darker still
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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.
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