Print

Those millions of words at the start of the songLike a passage through a mountain and oceans and fogThe feel of the ground in a town full of heartsThat are burning and eaten like lives through the passage of timeBut it's not that the colors of heaven or hellCould be drawn through the night of this song very wellBut the wise ??? in the scariest shadeWhen it's empty and gnawed on, and colors are faded and goneIt's time for romance and it's probably goneAnd I left the king lonely in spite of his songThat will carry me thousands of miles in a change of a chordFor the length of the note that is held very longFool in the street is the man who assumesThat finishing it is arriving too soonAnd there's hundreds of hours and the life of the tuneAnd the words are all ringing and chiming and breathingHere's to the painter who renders his thoughts so clearHere's to the poet who perpetually holds back a tearHere's to the sad silly music they constantlyHere's to the painter who renders his thoughts so clearHere's to the poet who perpetually holds back a tearHere's to the sad silly music they constantly hear From Letras Mania