I was drifting on a reef,
Looking through the trees below.
Spitting from a fire I saw,
A face my fingers used to know.
You drew the laces of the night
I poured a drink to pull them tight.
Sleeping here beneath the wake,
Of all the lights along the lake.
I'll be the perfect pair of boots.
I'll be the perfect winter coat.
The Russian stole around your neck.
I'll be the fingers at your throat.
You drew the laces of the night.
I poured a drink to pull them tight.
Sleeping here beneath the wake,
Of all the lights along the lake.
Everyone thinks that we're okay,
'Cause they don't hear what we don't say.
We found a saint that doesn't care.
And every footstep is a prayer.
We found a saint that doesn't care.
And every footstep is a prayer.

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