You haven't seen the sun
for seven days
November's got her nails dug in deep
I haven't seen my son for seven years
And the chances of him
ever getting back
Patrice
Buiton, I don't even know his name
Patrice
Buiton, he doesn't even
know my name
Spend my spare time with my rosary beads,
although I never learn to pray.
But you don't need the light in its case to
pretend that you see the errors of your way.
And darkness in you is as
heavy as a judgment
This darkness is as heavy
as a judgment
Dreams are now filled with
Gideon trees
Another sight that I've never seen
They used to be filled with
the fears of tomorrow
And the horror that emerged
Is as hell to me as cold as stone is to
Jesus
Is as hell on me, cold like a stone is to
Jesus
A stray in your mind can always recall
what the senses eagerly divide
I can remember his face,
each disgust in his taste
But tonight I feel I don't lie
Memories are just dead
men making trouble
This memory is just a dead
man making trouble
Haven't seen the sun for seven days
November's gotten less
dark indeed
Haven't seen my son for seven years
And the chance is only
getting nearer
Memories are just dead men making trolls
This memory is just a dead
man making trolls
Memories are just a dead
man making trouble
This memory is just a dead
man making trouble
Making trouble
You