Samuel Aging Spalding was from Spokane Right around the corner from the church Just above his temples he was balding Hear him pray, hear him pray You bestow your blessing on the heads of the living His words are like a soft bell Listen to the dead voice and the silence that is ringing Like an echo in a dying well He dipped his pen in ink and stayed up writing half that night and the following day Breathing smoke and doing coke And fighting to stay awake To stay awake If a thousand chandeliers could have been there shining In the country of a cold sleep He might’ve been steered to a faith that was blinding Instead of stumbling in his own defeat Samuel I think you said too much Samuel There’s always something there behind you Samuel Your sentence dead five times before it hit the ground and it the ground and it sounds like... Well he raked his eyes and read what he had laid down. His tongue was dry, his eyes were moist and red. Exhuasted from the work he went and laid down and the writing read and the writing read Run walk or stagger to you old lifes hanging It doesn’t matter if it feels right Funnel yourself through to the world your planning Riding on your insight. Spells and curses, bells and churches Peeling bells the silence swells
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Copy to Clipboard: Samuel Aging Spalding was from Spokane Right around the corner from the church Just above his temples he was balding Hear him pray, hear him pray You bestow your blessing on the heads of the living His words are like a soft bell Listen to the dead voice and the silence that is ringing Like an echo in a dying well He dipped his pen in ink and stayed up writing half that night and the following day Breathing smoke and doing coke And fighting to stay awake To stay awake If a thousand chandeliers could have been there shining In the country of a cold sleep He might’ve been steered to a faith that was blinding Instead of stumbling in his own defeat Samuel I think you said too much Samuel There’s always something there behind you Samuel Your sentence dead five times before it hit the ground and it the ground and it sounds like... Well he raked his eyes and read what he had laid down. His tongue was dry, his eyes were moist and red. Exhuasted from the work he went and laid down and the writing read and the writing read Run walk or stagger to you old lifes hanging It doesn’t matter if it feels right Funnel yourself through to the world your planning Riding on your insight. Spells and curses, bells and churches Peeling bells the silence swells
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