Wings Of Destiny
Introduction
Disclaimer: "In Liverpool" belongs to Suzanne Vega
~~~~~~*~~~~~~
In Liverpool on Sunday
No traffic on Avenue
The light is pale and thin
Like you
No sound down in this part of town
Except for the boy in the belfry
He's crazy, he's throwing himself down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven, he's ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
And he sounds like he's missing something or someone
That he knows he can't have now
And if he isn't, I certainly am
Homesick for a clock
That told the same time
Sometimes you made no sense to me
You lie on the ground
In somebody's arms
Probably swallowed some of their history
And the boy in the belfry
He's crazy, he's throwing himself down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven he's ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
And he sounds like he's missing something or someone
That he knows he can't have now
And if he isn't, I certainly am
I'll be the girl who sings for my supper
You'll be the monk whose forehead is high
He'll be the man who's already working
Spreading a memory all through the sky
In Liverpool on Sunday
No reason to even remember you now
~~~~~~*~~~~~~
Introduction
Disclaimer: "In Liverpool" belongs to Suzanne Vega
~~~~~~*~~~~~~
In Liverpool on Sunday
No traffic on Avenue
The light is pale and thin
Like you
No sound down in this part of town
Except for the boy in the belfry
He's crazy, he's throwing himself down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven, he's ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
And he sounds like he's missing something or someone
That he knows he can't have now
And if he isn't, I certainly am
Homesick for a clock
That told the same time
Sometimes you made no sense to me
You lie on the ground
In somebody's arms
Probably swallowed some of their history
And the boy in the belfry
He's crazy, he's throwing himself down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven he's ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
And he sounds like he's missing something or someone
That he knows he can't have now
And if he isn't, I certainly am
I'll be the girl who sings for my supper
You'll be the monk whose forehead is high
He'll be the man who's already working
Spreading a memory all through the sky
In Liverpool on Sunday
No reason to even remember you now
~~~~~~*~~~~~~
