Church (The)
Month of Sundays
Badman's woman with that look in her eyeYou stop to wonder as she passes bySomething inside you is never the sameSomething outside you is always to blameFollow her home where she lives with some friendsThey have some good things to add to the blendThe games expanded, invaded the placeYou're the only one who's forgotten his faceYou're saying no no no I must be on my wayBut it really has been a pleasant nightAnd you go so slow hope they'll ask you to stayBut indifference gives you a frightWalking outside you come to a doorYou go inside and you wonder what forAt least it's good to be out of the windYou turn around and the clocks all beginJust like the winter your memory thawsJust like the ocean your memory poursSo many pieces to match or to findSo many doubts to have in one mindIt's hard to see how the tables have turnedIt's hard to see how the people have learnedIt's hard to watch the past drizzling pastIt's hard to watch them picking the castAnd it stacks up badly that it never makes senseYou sense that sensation is who's paying the rentAnd she beckons to you with her fingers and liesShe says: can't you slice the price of your paradise
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