Another Murder Of The Day (tony Banks) Testo

Testo Another Murder Of The Day (tony Banks)

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She dreams china white behind her eyes of china blueHer future wrapped in velvet and her memories wrapped in warm cotton woolAnd the coffee groundsAre burying the hours that she killedIn another murder of a dayHer patience starts to crumbleLike a rock that turns to sandAnd time breaks down to secondsWhen you're waiting on a manShe's checking out the doorway while she's checking out the guyWhose drunk imagination is climbing up the ladder of her silk clad thighAnd the cigarettesAre burning up the hours that she killedIn another murder of a dayHer patience starts to crumbleLike a rock that turns to sandAnd time breaks down to secondsWhen you're waiting on a manIt seems so long since yesterdayThe time goes by so slowWhen you're waiting on a man, waiting on a man to showShe shivers in a cold sweat that she's trying to ignoreAs she wraps her shaking fingers round the loose change by the phoneShe needs him more than she'll admit and more than others need to know,She hopes the knots that tie her stomach are only butterfliesThe time goes by so slowWhen you're waiting on a man, waiting on a man to show.She prays that no one pays attentionAs she punches out the callAs she fumbles with the numberThat the panic still doesn't showShe prays the lights stay green all nightShe prays the traffic doesn't slowAnd the knots that tie her stomach are only butterfliesOnly butterflies, fly by every dayWhile your waiting on a man, waiting on a man to showThere he stands behind the doorShe reaches for her coat to goAnd she wanders away in a dreamShe wanders away to a dreamAs she threads her way home through the neon washed alleywaysShe flirts with the shadows and skirts round the victimsOf a night that'll sleep through the dayThat casts out its refugees and throws out its debrisShe turns the key in a lock to a fairy tale worldThat she guards with her ghosts of faithful familiarsWho attend to her shrine in a patchwork cathedralObserving the ritual with silent compassion and prayersOn the candlelit edges of a tightening circleShe arranges the photographs faded and yellowingMemories left of her friends and her familyRespectfully turned to the wallShe turns up the sound on a second hand radioAnd drowns out the noise of the world that she lives inHer conscience her witness her life is her courtroomAnd the man she left waitingIs waiting to murder a day

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