---

Raise your glass a toast
before I’m punished for your sins.
Drain your glass of drunken words
you wish I never meant.
When the carver finally frees
the angel from the wood.
He lights a smoke and blows a halo
says my work is through.

It’s an escape I can plan.
Letters for burning no hard would be done,
if Icarus flew round the sun,
with wings of metal.

An angel she returned
descending on a ball of string.
Once before the ocean
swallowed up her last refrain.

That’s when the low voices won.
Dissonant singing no harm would be done,
if Icarus flew round the sun,
with wings of metal.

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.