John Coffey - The Well | Текст песни

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• John Coffey
• The Well

Our hands try to draw what is nothing but divine
But our stroke is a part of the Venetian line
What was taken for style could well be a mistake
Or nothing but a flaw of the guilty hand

I'm nothing but a dead man now,
just a body laying at the bottom of a well
Was inside in such a way,
the universe now feels like being indoors

Our hands try to draw what is nothing but divine
But our stroke is a part of the Venetian line
What was taken for style could well be a mistake
Or nothing but a flaw of the guilty hand

I'm nothing but a dead man now,
just a body laying at the bottom of a well

Believe me please, believe me now, I'm coming forth
But the fist of a murderer leaves nothing to chance

I was inside in such a way,
the universe now feels like being indoors

But the fist of my murderer leaves me nothing to chance
2x

I'm nothing but a dead man now,
just a body laying at the bottom of a well

Believe me please, believe me now, I'm coming forth
But the fist of a murderer leaves nothing to chance
2x

Our hands try to draw what is nothing but divine
But our stroke is a part of the Venetian line
What was taken for style could well be a mistake
Or nothing but a flaw of the guilty hand

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