Paroles The Sailors de Andrew Preston

Textes et Paroles de The Sailors

Original
"Oh, don't let the moon get you down."
"That peculiar moon just knows how to frown."
They'd speak reassurance under the winds.
His face grew flooded. The moon would ascend.

On the lonely ocean they fetched the rain
from the silvery sky to the windowpane.
On their fingertips was secured a string
so they didn't forget the fibs they'd foreseen.

And as asteroids caught a haunted glimpse
of two hands enlaced, he spoke a pretence.
"Wink your halo and keep your nails off me,"
he bellowed a murmur in salt-soaked breeze.

The sailor was sinking, his words went unsaid.
He pleaded a promise, regrettably dead.
And yet, he had the most beautiful eyes
that beguiled like a fish entranced in it's tide.

The morning was mute, as the dust would subside.
They cast out the midnight with their fishing line.
They were preaching of sparrows spreading the sky
by the docks with the people feigning their smiles.

His hands crept quiescent like the light from the moon.
by downpour goodbyes stretched into the monsoon.
He dripped in a reverie- shielded remains of
a safeguard society a bit less than sane.

The sailors were swallowed in the maelstrom that night.
In these parts, you see, hurricanes aren't polite.
He'd just take his umbrella and climb to the sun,
and rest in remorse, as the love was undone.

He's too much of a coward to croon out his faith.
He's much too irate to believe in a fate.
That afterward calm harbored no hope,
for midnight was fancy that sank like a boat.

Update
Oh, don't let the moon get you down.
That peculiar moon just knows how to frown.
On their fingertips was secured a string
so they didn't forget the fibs they'd foreseen.

The sailor was sinking, his words went unsaid.
He pleaded a promise, regrettably dead.
And yet, he had the most beautiful eyes.

We were the sailors, and we rode the sea.
We tossed out the midnight and we floated free.
I'm promised perfection when I let him go.
I drowned a thousand times.
My love let me die.

The sailors were swallowed in the maelstrom that night.
In these parts, you see, hurricanes aren't polite.
He'd just take his umbrella and climb to the sun,
and rest in remorse, as the love was undone.

He's too much of a coward to croon out his faith.
He's much too irate to believe in a fate.
That afterward calm harbored no hope,
for midnight was fancy that sank like a boat.

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