Frank Black
When The Paint Grows Darker Still
I am just a weary singerMoving through this world of illsHark the choir of predecessorsWhen the paint grows darker stillOnce I found a golden trumpetIn the mash of an old landfillNow I play for the spiritsWhen the paint grows darker stillWinter waited in my gardenWhen the sun did refuse to shineHoneybees all in a slumberSkies filled up the seaFalling down on meWinter waited in my gardenWhen the sun did refuse to shineHoneybees are in a slumberSkies filled up the seaFalling down on meSee his eyes turn to stained glassHead to toe in a black roadkillHere I am for your judgmentWhen the paint grows darker stillWhen the paint grows darker stillWhen the paint grows darker still
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