Saint Simon

After all these implements and texts designed by intellects So vexed to find, evidently there's still so much that hides And though the saints dub us divine in ancient feeding lines Their sentiment is just as hard to pluck from the vine I'll try hard not to pretend, allow myself no mock defense Step into the night Since I don't have time nor mind to figure out the nursery rhymes That helped us out in making sense of our lives The cruel, uneventful state of apathy releases me I value them but I won't cry every time one's wiped out I'll try hard not to give in, batten down to fare the wind Rid my head of this pretense, allow myself no mock defense Step into the night Mercy's eyes are blue and when she places them in front of you Nothing holds a Roman candle to the solemn warmth you feel There's no measuring of it as nothing else is love I'll try hard not to give in, batten down to fare the wind Rid my head of this pretense, allow myself no mock defense Step into the night Mercy's eyes are blue when she places them in front of you Nothing really holds a candle to the solemn warmth you feel inside you