歌词
My bed is the garden where voices all meet
Hands skim through the water beneath my pillow
Stones like rain wash away the hours
The hands on my clock, ***, wilted flowers
Silent Thunder pries me to sleep
Falling the edge so steep
And if my eyes shy from the morning
My lips will taste of unripened fruit
Words without a language call from the past
The future was the day before the last
Silent Thunder pries me to sleep
Falling the edge so steep