Letra Till the Morning - Brian D’Addario
When I get off the train and I crawl in your bed
The past rolls away a lifetime of dread
Travels through all of the fables I've read
And they don't come back until the morning
If I knew where my mind went up beneath your thighs
I'd go there more often, I'd never arise
Like the strawman collector, your words hypnotize
But I won't check my pockets till the morning
Your lips they surround me in a halo of dreams
They show me things my eyes never could have seen
Like the tombstone raider who shined on Galilee
Whose candle burned brightly till the morning
Oh the law of God and man is in a state of disrepair
Shallow is the grave, its headstone bare
The long forgotten child of our lady of air
Who couldn't hear the robin sing that morning
My fingers they touch you, and fill your eyes with song
My spirit tells my body that my spirit don't belong
But the right is far more righteous in a world of wrong
And the night is pitch black until the morning
The saints who are slaughtered are alive like you or me
Their prisons were the world, their home eternity
Their bodies bound and beaten, but their spirit proud and free
But are we left crippled in our mourning?
Oh but when I get off the train and I crawl in your bed
The past rolls away a lifetime of dread
Travels through all of the fables I've read
And they don't come back until the morning
The past rolls away a lifetime of dread
Travels through all of the fables I've read
And they don't come back until the morning
If I knew where my mind went up beneath your thighs
I'd go there more often, I'd never arise
Like the strawman collector, your words hypnotize
But I won't check my pockets till the morning
Your lips they surround me in a halo of dreams
They show me things my eyes never could have seen
Like the tombstone raider who shined on Galilee
Whose candle burned brightly till the morning
Oh the law of God and man is in a state of disrepair
Shallow is the grave, its headstone bare
The long forgotten child of our lady of air
Who couldn't hear the robin sing that morning
My fingers they touch you, and fill your eyes with song
My spirit tells my body that my spirit don't belong
But the right is far more righteous in a world of wrong
And the night is pitch black until the morning
The saints who are slaughtered are alive like you or me
Their prisons were the world, their home eternity
Their bodies bound and beaten, but their spirit proud and free
But are we left crippled in our mourning?
Oh but when I get off the train and I crawl in your bed
The past rolls away a lifetime of dread
Travels through all of the fables I've read
And they don't come back until the morning
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