All our days of longing spent
gathering in wooden shells
lining up in perfect rows
our postures bent, mine and yours
All the weight of seasons change
burning in our collarbones
and spinning stories in our ears
pulling, pulling at our will
But when we burn our candles down,
we'll gather our communion songs
our faces white with bravery
lovely in our frailty
gathering in wooden shells
lining up in perfect rows
our postures bent, mine and yours
All the weight of seasons change
burning in our collarbones
and spinning stories in our ears
pulling, pulling at our will
But when we burn our candles down,
we'll gather our communion songs
our faces white with bravery
lovely in our frailty