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The voices of evening
alive
always upbeat
archives of wisdom bent
and always the words of love
tender
soft and frequent
then journeys to ecstasy
splendour in the night spent
That was then and this I'm afraid is now
and it's gone far past any hope of returning home
there are so many faces that wont return
music from the past it helps me feel less alone
When the lights die and the velvet crashes
the churches close and the echo of slamming doors
fades
I can still hear BJ hitting that perfect beat
and touch the gold of which
memories are made
The voices of evening
distant
out on the street
tales about tie nothingness
constant and indiscreet
and sometimes there's words of love
empty
like flesh on stone
then journeys through violence
angry harsh taunts hit home
This homeland alien to me somehow
this wasteland used to be my heart and my very blood
nothing familiar beyond my broken head
but the music of the past it still plays as it should
When the lights die and the velvet crashes
the churches close and the echo of slamming doors
fades
I can still hear BJ hitting that perfect beat
and touch the gold of which
memories are made |
