Testo Grave

Whisper in the flames. Breathe in their smoke. Paint yourself in ash and listen to the secrets that the flames spoke. They say death got your tongue; that death swallowed your song. He came a-calling with a gentle rhyme, to show you just where you belong. If you were in your grave, I’d have heard you sing your aria of sorrow and pain, while the church bells ring. If you were in your grave, earth heavy in lung, I’d have heard you howl and wail, long after the church bells rung. If you were in your grave…If you were in your grave…If you were in your grave, I would hear you sing. Seductive, cold embrace come-hithers in your ear, like a harlot wearing silk and lace, persistently drawing you near. She keeps calling to you. She keeps calling your name. She says, “Come to me, my child. Wash away all your burdens and shame.” If you were in your grave, I’d have heard you sing your aria of sorrow and pain, while the church bells ring. If you were in your grave, with earth heavy in lung, I’d have heard you call to me, long after the church bells rung. If you were in your grave… If you were in your grave… If you were in your grave… If you were in your grave… If you were in your grave…If you were in your grave…If you were in your grave, I’d have heard you sing to me.