şarkı sözü,şarkı sözleri, Lyrics

In the quiet morning and in the hours that followed no one could repair there was much despair That poor girl tossed by the tides of misfortune Barely here to tell her tale Rolled out on a mainline rail She once walked tight by my side Rolled in on a sea of disaster I’m sure she walked by you Torment from a child who knew Her striding steps could not deny That in the quiet morning and in the hour that followed no one could repair there would be despair That poor girl she cried out her song so loud it was heard the whole world round [ A symphony of violence and in the hour that followed The great southwest unbound ] In the quiet morning there was much despair no one could repair That poor girl tossed by the tides of misfortune Rolled in on a sea of disaster Rolled out on a mainline rail Barely here to tell her tale

on one morning
in the month of May
when all the birds
were singing

I saw a lovely maiden stray
across the fields at break of day
she softly sung her roundelay

the tide flows in
the tide flows out
twice everyday returning

her cheeks were red
her eyes were brown
her hair in ringlets haging down
upon her face to hide the frown

just as the tode was flowing

the tide flows in
the tide flows out
twice everyday returning

a sailor’s wife at home must bide
she halted heavily she sighed
“he parted from poor me, a bride
I’m widowed by the sea” she cried

just as the tide was flowing

the tide flows in
the tide flows out
twice everyday returning

He fills the flower vases, trims the candle bases, takes small change from the poor box. Tyler has the key. He takes nail and hammer to tack up the banner of felt scraps glued together reading, “Jesus Lives In Me.” Alone in the night he mocks the words of the preacher: “God is feeling your every pain.” Repair the Christmas stable, restore the plaster angel. Her lips begin to crumble and her robes begin to peel. For Bible study in the church basement, hear children Gospel citing, Matthew 17:15. Alone in the night he mocks the arms of the preacher raised to the ceiling, “Tell God your pain.”
To him the world’s defiled. In Lot he sees a likeness there; he swears this Sodom will burn down. Near Sacred Blood there’s a dance hall where Tyler Glen saw a black girl and a white boy kissing shamelessly. Black hands on white shoulders, white hands on black shoulders, dancing, and you know what’s more. He’s God’s mad disciple, a righteous title, for the Word he heard he so misunderstood. Though simple minded, a crippled man, to know this man is to fear this man, to shake when he comes. Wasn’t it God that let Puritans in Salem do what they did to the unfaithful?
Boys at the Jubilee slowly sink into brown bag whiskey drinking and reeling on their feet. Girls at the Jubilee in low-cut dresses yield to the caresses and the man-handling. Black hands on white shoulders, white hands on black shoulders, dancing, and you know what’s more.
Through the tall blades of grass he heads for the Jubilee with a bucket in his right hand full of rags soaked in gasoline. He lifts the shingles in the dark and slips the rags there underneath. He strikes a matchstick on the box side and watches the rags ignite. He climbs the bell tower of the Sacred Blood to watch the flames rising higher toward the trees. Sirens wailing now toward the scene

To think of my task is chilling. To know I was carefully building the mask I was wearing for two years, swearing I’d tear it off. I’ve sat in the dark explaining to myself that I’m straining too hard for feelings I ought to find easily. Called myself Jezebel. I don’t believe.
Before I say that the vows we made weigh like a stone in my heart. Family is family, don’t let this tear us apart.
You lie there, an innocent baby. I feel like the thief who is raiding your home, entering and breaking and taking in every room. I know your feelings are tender and that inside you the embers still glow. But I’m a shadow, I’m only a bed of blackened coal. Call myself Jezebel for wanting to leave.
I’m not saying I’m replacing love for some other word to describe the sacred tie that bound me to you. I’m just saying we’ve mistaken one for thousands of words. And for that mistake, I’ve caused you such pain that I damn that word. I’ve no more ways to hide that I’m a desolate and empty, hollow place inside.
I’m not saying I’m replacing love for some other word to describe the sacred tie that bound me to you. I’m not saying love’s a plaything. No, it’s a powerful word, inspired by strong desire to bind myself to you. How I wish that we never had tried to be man and his wife, to weave our lives into a blindfold over both our eyes.

If you intend to live again, then open your eyes and don’t pretend you’re feeling there’s nothing worth believing.
God, if you persist you’ll die like this, and wither in the midst of your first season, cut down with no reason. How can you be so near and not see everything?
If you intend to live again, then take the outstreched hand of the one that needs you. It’s been so long, we’ve missed you. Why do you intend to speed your end? Lie in the dark and let your limbs grow weaker, sinking low then deeper. How can you be so near and not see everything?
Feel what might be. See what I see. Again and again and again and again say you don’t. You say you don’t, but you will.
How can you be so near and not see?

It crawls on his back, won’t ever let him be. Stares at the walls until the cinder blocks can breathe. His eyes have gone away, escaping over time. He rules a crowded nation inside his mind.
He knows that night like his hand. He knows every move he made. Late shift, the bell that rang, a time card won’t fade. 10:05 his truck pulled home. 10:05 he climbed his stair, about the time he was accused of being there.
But I’m not the man. He goes free as I wait on the row for the man to test the rope he’ll slip around my throat… and silence me.
On the day he was tried no witness testified. Nothing but evidence, not hard to falsify. His own confession was a prosecutor’s prize, made up of fear, of rage and of outright lies.
But I’m not the man. He goes free as the candle vigil glows, as they burn my clothes. As the crowd cries, “Hang him slow!” and I feel my blood go cold, he goes free.
Call out the KKK, they’re wild after me. And with that frenzied look of half-demented zeal, they’d love to serve me up my final meal.
Who’ll read my final rite and hear my last appeal? Who struck this devil’s deal?

“My, how you’ve grown.” I remember that phrase from my childhood days too. “Just wait and see.” I remember those words and how they chided me, when patient was the hardest thing to be. Because we can’t make up for the time that we’ve lost, I must let these memories provide. No little girl can stop her world to wait for me.
I should have known. At your age, in a string of days the year is gone. But in that space of time, it takes so long. Because we can’t make up for the time that we’ve lost, I must let those memories provide. No little girl can stop her world to wait for me.
Every time we say goodbye you’re frozen in my mind as the child that you never will be, you never will be again. I’ll never be more to you than a stranger could be.
Every time we say goodbye you’re frozen in my mind as a child that you never will be, will be again.

I see the leaves of autumn changing falling turning what was green
I see a door standing open, open to curiosity we could be together tear
it all apart would you ever notice what was hidden in my heart
would you ever notice what was hidden in my heart,
as willows start to weep there as we stood upon the threshold
my deep heart is reeling forward and steady on to keep,
heartstrong do we ever listen closely
who said forever was for keeps?
who made me miss the last ferry?
who made this river so deep

Hey Jack Kerouac, I think of your mother and the tears she cried, she cried for none other than her little boy lost in our little world that hated and that dared to drag him down. Her little boy courageous who chose his words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood. Hip flask slinging madman, steaming cafe flirts, they all spoke through you.
Hey Jack, now for the tricky part, when you were the brightest star who were the shadows? Of the San Francisco beat boys you were the favorite. Now they sit and rattle their bones and think of their blood stoned days. You chose your words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood. The hip flask slinging madman, steaming cafe flirts, in Chinatown howling at night.
Allen baby, why so jaded? Have the boys all grown up and their beauty faded? Billy, what a saint they’ve made you, just like Mary down in Mexico on All Souls’ Day.
You chose your words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood. Cool junk booting madmen, street minded girls in Harlem howling at night. What a tear stained shock of the world, you’ve gone away without saying goodbye.

In the dark night a giant slumbered untouched for centuries ’til awakened by a white man’s cry: “This is the Eden I was to find.” There were lands to be charted and to be claimed for a crown, when a hero was made by the length he could stay in this dangerous land of hateful hate.
Curiosity filled the heads of these, there was an upper room they had to see. Curiosity killed the best of these for a hero’s hometown welcoming. Still they moved on and on.
Who came building missions? Unswerving men of the cloth who gave their lives in numbers untold so that black sheep entered the fold. Captured like human livestock, destined for slavery. Naked, walked to the shore where great ships moored for the hellbound journies. Bought and sold with a hateful hate.
Curiosity filled the breasts of these with some strange ecstasy. Curiosity killed the best of these by robbing their lives of dignity. Still they moved on and on.
Calling men of adventure for a jungle bush safari. Come conquer the, his claws and teeth. See death in his eyes to know you’re alive.
European homesteads grew up in the colonies with civilized plans for wild hinterlands, their guns and God willing. Such a hateful hate.
Curiosity spilled the blood of these for their spotted skins and ivory. Curiosity filled the heads of these madmen with the lies of destiny. Curiosity spilled the blood of these, then blotted their lives from history. Curiosity filled the heads of these, one man claimed all that he could see. Curiosity still entices these madmen with a lusting and a greed. Their legacy, legacy, legacy…