We won't need twenty steps today,
The gallery it swims away
In Monday shoes.
It's awful tempting, might black,
The way the words run down your back,
Beneath the gentle sway of paper lantern moons.
Could you be quick or be,
Could you be quick or be tired.
The tock, the tick of it,
Atop the funeral pyre.
We're in the thick of it,
So bite the brick of it all.
We gnaw through limbs to extricate ourselves,
From where we stand and where we fell,
When we don't know how
To sidsetep when tiny guns
Have made their way through the best of us,
Beneath the gentle sway of paper latern moons.
Could you be quick or be,
Could you be quick or be tired.
The tock, the tick of it,
Atop the funeral pyre.
We're in the thick of it,
So bite the brick of it all.
Your tithing teeth have never sung,
A fitting tune for a setting sun.
I know your ghost is somewhere good.
We haven't seen and we'll never know,
Where summer sleeps and the springtime goes.
We only hope it's somewhere good.
Grand Archives - A Setting Sun Lyrics
Grand Archives - A Setting Sun Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
We won't need twenty steps today,
The gallery it swims away
In Monday shoes.
It's awful tempting, might black,
The way the words run down your back,
Beneath the gentle sway of paper lantern moons.
Could you be quick or be,
Could you be quick or be tired.
The tock, the tick of it,
Atop the funeral pyre.
We're in the thick of it,
So bite the brick of it all.
We gnaw through limbs to extricate ourselves,
From where we stand and where we fell,
When we don't know how
To sidsetep when tiny guns
Have made their way through the best of us,
Beneath the gentle sway of paper latern moons.
Could you be quick or be,
Could you be quick or be tired.
The tock, the tick of it,
Atop the funeral pyre.
We're in the thick of it,
So bite the brick of it all.
Your tithing teeth have never sung,
A fitting tune for a setting sun.
I know your ghost is somewhere good.
We haven't seen and we'll never know,
Where summer sleeps and the springtime goes.
We only hope it's somewhere good.
The gallery it swims away
In Monday shoes.
It's awful tempting, might black,
The way the words run down your back,
Beneath the gentle sway of paper lantern moons.
Could you be quick or be,
Could you be quick or be tired.
The tock, the tick of it,
Atop the funeral pyre.
We're in the thick of it,
So bite the brick of it all.
We gnaw through limbs to extricate ourselves,
From where we stand and where we fell,
When we don't know how
To sidsetep when tiny guns
Have made their way through the best of us,
Beneath the gentle sway of paper latern moons.
Could you be quick or be,
Could you be quick or be tired.
The tock, the tick of it,
Atop the funeral pyre.
We're in the thick of it,
So bite the brick of it all.
Your tithing teeth have never sung,
A fitting tune for a setting sun.
I know your ghost is somewhere good.
We haven't seen and we'll never know,
Where summer sleeps and the springtime goes.
We only hope it's somewhere good.
Writer: Carl Martin Emanuel Ryden, Paul John Harris, Scott Simons, Steven Paul Smith
Copyright: Lyrics © Wixen Music Publishing, BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Wixen Music Publishing, BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Performed By: Grand Archives
Language: English
Length: 6:11
Written by: Carl Martin Emanuel Ryden, Paul John Harris, Scott Simons, Steven Paul Smith