More songs by Greg Freeman
Description
Producer, Associated Performer: Greg Freeman
Recording Engineer, Producer, Studio Musician: Benny Yurco
Recording Engineer, Mixing Engineer: Adrian Olsen
Mastering Engineer: Josh Bonati
Studio Musician: Zack James
Studio Musician: Sam Atallah
Studio Musician: Cam Gilmour
Studio Musician: Merce Lemon
Composer, Lyricist: Greg Freeman
Lyrics and translation
Original
Your eyes are like a curtain and the sun goes through it.
And a crystalline expression questions some kind of fall from grace, reflecting green shadows through black shutter curls.
And cruciform fossils lay excavated on your memory like plaster casts through lover's seas. Kisses became the only thing that ever really mattered to a
Vesuvian world.
My thoughts die out slowly on the blood-swept plains where
I see you every night.
Into the lonely hours, it's like burning the furniture to keep the house bright at night.
The night is getting late and all the horns have been blown.
And the drummer's looking cockeyed on his rusty metal throne. And I'm somewhere in the distance, and you're somewhere at home.
And I'm waiting for the money, so I buy another drink.
And like a pile of dirty dishes, you carry yourself to the sink.
Well, the lake is out there freezing, but it's doubling along.
If your heart's not an inn, then your heart's not an inn, then my heart's not an inn.
If your heart's not an inn, then your heart's not an inn, then my heart's not an inn.
If your heart can't take it, then my heart can't take it, then my heart can't take it.
If your heart can't take it, then your heart can't take it, then your heart can't take it.
My thoughts die out slowly on the wind-swept plains where I see you every night.
Into the lonely hours, it's like burning the furniture to keep the house bright at night.
My thoughts die out slowly on the wind-swept plains where
I see you every night.
Into the lonely hours, it's like burning the furniture to keep the house bright at night.