July 20, 2023 - Brother Nathanael
03:33
| 
| Time | Text |
|---|---|
| After all the jacks are in their boxes, man the clowns have all gone to bed. | |
| You can hear happiness staggering on down the street, footprints dressed in red, and the wind whispers down. | |
| A broom is clearly sweeping out the broken pieces of yesterday's light. | |
| Somewhere a queen is weeping, somewhere a king has no wife, It cries out. | |
| It's a long story. | |
| guitar solo The traffic lights | |
| they turn to blue tomorrow And shine their emptiness | |
| down on my bed The tiny island | |
| sags downstream Cause the life | |
| that they lived is is dead And the wind screams, Mary Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past? | |
| And with its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom, it whispers, no, this will be the last. | |
| And the wind cries, Mary. | |
| Excuse me while I kiss the sky. | |
| You know, false spy, they never die. | |
| They're going to get me on this one. |
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