Priests

And who will write love songs for you

When I am lord at last

And your body is a little highway shrine

That all my priests have passed?

That all my priests have passed

My priests they will put flowers there

They will kneel before the glass

But they'll wear away your little window, love

They will trample on the grass

They will trample on the grass

And who will shoot the arrow

That men will follow through your grace

When I am lord of memory

And all your armor has turned to lace?

And all your armor has turned to lace

The simple life of heroes

And the twisted life of saints

They just confuse the sunny calendar

With their red and golden paints

With their red and golden paints

And all of you have seen the dance

That God has kept from me

But he has seen me watching you

When all your minds were free

When all your minds were free