Saint Simon (2023 Remaster)

After all these implements and texts designed by intellects

We're still vexed to find, evidently there's still 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 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

And 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

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