Lyrics

Conversations with Magdalene

Magdalene watches and she waits outside.
Magdalene crouches at the door tonight.

The way she whispers and waves her eyes
At the rising of tomorrow?s moon.
She says she?s privy to the angels? plight
And swears that they?ll be flying soon.

She looks right through me.
Is my soul that thin?
I would be solid but for want of him.

If die he must, how am I to stand up
And wave these flowers and sing these songs?
When sing I must how am I to keep this
Dying from my own soul?

The chimes are walrus with the pulse of life
Making beggars out of him and me.
Me whose belief requires the proof of sight
And his that wants eternity
To look right through me, and my soul that thin.
I would be solid but for want of him.

If die he must, how am I to stand up
And wave these flowers and sing these songs?
When sing I must how am I to keep this
Dying from my own soul?

(Magdalene:)
I?ll pick apart these pretty landslides
And in your winter I?ll nest here
To push your dead through the gateway of your fear.

I?ll be the rain that smells of your childhood
On torturous nights at 3am
Just when you thought you?d never find comfort again.

If die he must, how am I to stand up
And wave these flowers and sing these songs?
When sing I must how am I to keep this
Dying from my own soul?