| Lyrics: | slow birds
no breeze
iron hearts
rust in streams
long march
small
crimes
soft words
whisper
it's time to come home - your eyes
to bring back
- your charms
to sit real still
in my arms
clocks tick
trees
pound
lions roar
on empty streets
long lists
in black and white
(s h
h) red words
that read like the fourth of July
you're home
uhuh, you're home, in my
arms |