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letra de saturday delivery - wooden wand

at the end of the world, i learned to play again for pleasure
with a faith so immaculate, so impossible to measure
and my stone-shaped bones were all that i had to give her
and there was nothing, nothing, nothing to consider
to be very smart one be able to remember
to be a leader of men one must learn to control his temper
and someone who only takes so that later on they can be the giver
but there’s nothing, nothing, nothing to deliver
i buried my heart where she once swore upon the lightning
and she sought the asylum of the things i found most frightening
and she danced and she sang on my grave til her voice was a whisper
still there was no one, no one, no one that would have quit her
i was knighted in a hurry in old gettysburg
where a summit of jesters were sharpening their words
where each thing that i stole and i found i had kept just to give her
and there was nothing, nothing, no thing that wouldn’t fit her
but i began to grow curious and i began to doubt her
when the porch light was off when i’d come home from somewhere out without her
and now she is gone and i’m only guilty of trying hard to miss her
when there is nothing, nothing, between us but a river
i agreed to a pact with the dirt on the tower
i’d abide it and it in turn would keep me in flowers
so on to the thing that’d spring, but rush to a wither
where there’s no plea, no truth, no lies to consider
there is nothing, nothing, nothing to consider

- wooden wand

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