A/N: This my first attempt at lyrics, for BBB's contest.
Tea party smiles and cold, polite hands.
Driftwood hollowness and castle sands.
A kiss on the cheek, pure and virgin.
Shrugshouldered pilgrims, blue and puritan.
Trapped in a robe, coarse as foxglove
with nothing on it but what's left of love.
Titan, with hands so big that they can bunch up the dark
like posies, and strangle the lark, the lark.
CHORUS:
I hear he's preaching down by the river
In the house of the lord, the house of beggars
A deadbeat pianoman with a spinal shiver
Can't escape these sons and daughters.
These sons and daughters.
These sons and daughters!
Your cold moonshaped body
feels of sin and tears, shoddy
little one room apartments where babies are born
with shame as their skin, and tired eyes worn.
This ain't nothing but a revolution
against you and your tithing box of contributions
'cause, hon, your insides are as cold as a church
and nothing but a prayer can end this search.
CHORUS
Pawn it away, a run for their money.
With words and whispers thick as honey
that marks us red, I wake with the thump of your heart
on my chest and the graze of your teeth, broken and sharp.
Hail Mary, a saint in a bell jar
where bodies are made of bones and tar
can't feel the pulse under all this cement
lonely and wide as a cowboy's lament.
CHORUS
I showed my love the water's edge
and we slept all night in the cradle of smile
All this time we've walked your ledge
so can't you let me in, won't you give me a trial?
Won't you give me a trial?
(whispered) Won't you let me in?
