Saint Simon

After all these implements

And text designed by intellects

So vexed to find evidently

There's just so much that hides

And though the saints dub us divine

In ancient fading lines

Their sentiment is just as hard to

Pluck from the vine

I'll try hard not to pretend

Allow myself no mock defense

As I step into the night

Since I don't have the time nor

Mind to figure out

The nursery rhymes that helped us out in

Making sense of our lives

The cruel uneventful state of apathy releases me

I value them but I won't cry

Every time one's wiped out

I'll try hard not to give in

Batten down to fare the wind

Rid my head of this pretense

Allow myself no mock defense

As I step into the night

Mercy's eyes are blue

When she places them in front of you

Nothing holds a roman candle to

The solemn warmth you feel inside

There's no measuring of it

As nothing else is love

I'll try hard not to give in

Batten down to fare the wind

Rid my head of this pretense

Allow myself no mock defense

As I step into the night

Mercy's eyes are blue

When she places them in front of you

Nothing really holds a candle to

The solemn warmth you feel inside of you