St. Matthew

She walks around on brass rings that never touch her feet

She speaks in conversations that never are complete

And looking over past things that she has never done

She calls herself St. Matthew, when she is on the run

She stoops down to gather partly shattered men

And knows that when it's over it will start again

Both the times she smiled it was a portrait of the sun

She calls herself St. Matthew, when she is on the run

Part of it is loneliness and knowing how steal

But most if it is weariness from standing up, trying not to kneel

She discovered three new ways that she could help the dead

Sometime she must raise her hand to tell you what she said

Then standing in a landslide she suddenly becomes

A girl that's named St. Matthew, when she is on the run

Part of it is loneliness and knowing how steal

But most if it is weariness from standing up, trying not to kneel

She discovered three new ways that she could help the dead

Sometime she must raise her hand to tell you what she said

Then standing in a landslide she suddenly becomes

A girl that's named St. Matthew, when she is on the run