Listening to the songs that you’d sing
Home fires were burning and the smoke stung our eyes;
We were blind from birth, until that night
Love grows old and we die younger each time
Heaven loves a martyr
And how am I supposed to run with my legs sunk in the mud?
I wish I had grown up a little longer
And if we’d flown south, we’d have a home at least for now;
Love grows old
And I lived like a king
I was on the back of a nightingale, living like a king; Listening to the songs that you’d sing Home fires were burning and the smoke stung our eyes; We were blind from birth, until that night Love grows old and we die younger each time Heaven loves a martyr And how am I supposed to run with my legs sunk in the mud? I wish I had grown up a little longer And if we’d flown south, we’d have a home at least for now; Love grows old And I lived like a king Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
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