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The Key
The Saints (2)
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Sometimes in the evening
With the sweat of day receding
And the cooling breeze revealing what she knows
The fahrenheit is falling and the dreams are softly callin'
There is mystery behind the shadows' glow
Christ, the poet told me
Beautiful old melancholy
We the losers one day may just win the show
In the chaos of the town
I'll take the time to look around
And listen to the wind as she blows
The key to my survival is a crude and rusty Bible
I will fill it up with everything I know
Christ, the poet told me
Beautiful old melancholy
We the losers one day may just win the show
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