The Soviet

[Verse]
God is love and love is real,
But the dead are dancing with the dead
And whatever's charming disappears
While all things lovely only hurt my head

As I gather stones from fields
Like pearls of water on my fingers' ends
(And I carefully wrap them up in boxes...
Safe from windows)
From things that break!
As the night-time shined like day
It saw my sorry face and hair a mess
But it liked me best that way...
Besides, how else could I confess?
When I looked down like if to pray
Well, I was looking down her dress...
Good God!
Please, catch for us the foxes
In the vineyard... the little foxes

[This verse is whispered in the background
Before being fully sung]
So turn your ears
You musicians, to silence
Because they only come out when it's quiet
Their tails brushing over your eyelids
Oh, wake up, sleepers
And rise from the dead!
Or the fur that they shed
That's gonna lay on your bed
In a delicate orange-ish cinnamon red...
Ah, but I don't need this!
I don't need this!
For I have my loves... I don't need this