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afterword - grant claytor lyrics

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[verse 1]
wick starts growing dim, crackles slow and thin
storm starts comin’ in, feels like holy sin
your hair starts falling low, my shoulder to rest on
tell me what you know, but tell it to me slow, (la la la)

[spoken outro]
the sun, like the top of an orange, was dipping into a wine*red sea. we turned round and looked at the people who were all talking their heads off
the cheerful noise was exhilarating
then the church bell, rather cracked, but with a fine resonant note, began to ring

- grant claytor lyrics

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