The embers of the saint inside of you
Are growing as I'm bathing in your glow
I'm swallowing the poison of your flower
And hanging on the rising of my lowColorful and falling from your mouth
Like a painted fever in recoil
Like a lie without the painOn a pillow of your bones
I will lay across the stones of your shore
Until the tide comes crawling
Throw my pillow on the fire
Make my bed under the eye of your moon
Until the tide comes crawling backA waning hand on silver granite ways
Will mend my broken limbs and bend my haze
I'm sleeping in the silence of your voice
I'm cradling the peril of my only choiceColorful and falling from your mouth
Like a painted fever in recoil
Like a lie without the painOn a pillow of your bones
I will lay across the stones of your shore
Until the tide comes crawling
Throw my pillow on the fire
Make my bed under the eye of your moon
Until the tide comes crawling backEven though the truth can burn inside or fall behind
I will wander through your open mind
And you will find no lie can hide
Until the tide comes crawlingOn a pillow of your bones
I will lay across the stones of your shore
Until the tide comes crawling
Throw my pillow on the fire
Make my bed under the eye of your moon
Until the tide comes crawlingOn a pillow of your bones
I will lay across the stones of your shore
Until the tide comes crawling back