Letra
Ver letra con acordes
[Verse 1]
The room calls to me, says we re all strung out
(And the beat we both stomp on the floor)
While outside the leopard frogs sing sweetly
These are the hymns that today we ve ignored
And all across the desert, and all up in the mountains:
A wind so loud that we might never mention
[Verse 2]
And heres to my lovers hands and feet
They are the roots that will weave through the floor
And down in the dirt, in her wandering
Find the snail to give us breath, to give us words
He asks us for our patience, he asks us for our patience
And he asks us what we have done for our souls lately
[Chorus]
Down by the bur oak tree, I had lost your locket in the loam
And there fell to my knees, neath the coil and the brush of the fern
[instrumental]
[Verse 3]
The candles light dances across the table
And will burn at the tip of my pen
And lures all the moths into the kitchen
To spin tales and bend truths through the evening
And scribe for them their stories; we scribe for them their stories
While they wax and wax of their lives in the country
[Chorus]
Down by the bur oak tree, I had lost your locket in the loam
And there fell to my knees, neath the coil and the brush of the fern
The room calls to me, says we re all strung out
(And the beat we both stomp on the floor)
While outside the leopard frogs sing sweetly
These are the hymns that today we ve ignored
And all across the desert, and all up in the mountains:
A wind so loud that we might never mention
[Verse 2]
And heres to my lovers hands and feet
They are the roots that will weave through the floor
And down in the dirt, in her wandering
Find the snail to give us breath, to give us words
He asks us for our patience, he asks us for our patience
And he asks us what we have done for our souls lately
[Chorus]
Down by the bur oak tree, I had lost your locket in the loam
And there fell to my knees, neath the coil and the brush of the fern
[instrumental]
[Verse 3]
The candles light dances across the table
And will burn at the tip of my pen
And lures all the moths into the kitchen
To spin tales and bend truths through the evening
And scribe for them their stories; we scribe for them their stories
While they wax and wax of their lives in the country
[Chorus]
Down by the bur oak tree, I had lost your locket in the loam
And there fell to my knees, neath the coil and the brush of the fern