God is love and love is real
But the dead are dancing with the dead
And whatever's charming disappears
While all things lovely only hurt my head
As I gather stones from fields
Like pearls of water on my fingers' ends
And I carefully wrap them up in boxes
Safe from windows, from things that break
As the night-time shined like day it saw my sorry face
And hair a mess but it liked me best that way
Besides, how else could I confess?
When I looked down, like if to pray
Well, I was looking down her dress
Good God!
Please catch for us the foxes
In the vineyard, the little foxes
(Like an apple tree among the trees of the woods, so is my love among men)
(He has brought me to a banquet hall, and his banner over me is love)
(Let me see your form, hear your voice)
(Catch for us the foxes that ruin our vineyards, the vineyards that are in bloom)
(Catch for us even the little foxes)
(So turn your ears, you musicians, to silence)
(Because they only come out when it's quiet)
(Their tails brushing over your eyelids)
(Wake up, sleepers, and rise from the dead)
(Or the fur that they shed that's gonna lay on your bed)
(In a delicate orange-ish cinnamon red)
(I have my loves, I have my doubts)
So turn your ears, you musicians, to silence
Because they only come out when it's quiet
Their tails brushing over your eyelids
Oh wake up, sleepers, and rise from the dead!
Or the fur that they shed that's gonna lay on your bed
In a delicate orange-ish cinnamon red
Ah, but I don't need this!
I don't need this
My doubts, my loves!
I don't need this
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