You've made your decision,
now get up
and leave the familiar sting
of the woodcutter's swing to the tree.
I'll fall in the forest,
to elbows and knees,
and it won't make a sound
since there's no one around here to see.
I was prepared to love you
and never expect anything of you.
If the spirit has left you, baby,
don't lie to yourself.
Put them old records on
and admit that it's gone somewhere else.
And just because we're beasts of blame by nature,
it doesn't mean that you should carry it again:
It's a question of needs, and not rosary beads,
in the end.
I was prepared to love you
and never expect anything of you.
There's no patron saint of silent restraint:
Baby, there aint no sword in our lake.
Just a funeral wake.
You were the coldest star in the sky,
only I couldn't see it: I was blind.
In comes the black night,
calling your name since you were born,
only I couldn't hear it: I was empty as a drum.

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