Testo:
My death waits like an old roue'
so confident that i'll go his way
whistle for him
and the passing time
my death waits like a bible truth
at the funerals of my youth
where we laughed at that -
the passing time
my death waits like
a witch at night
just as surely as our love is right
oh,let's not think about the passing time
For whatever lies behind the door
there is nothing much to do now
angel or devil,well,i don't care
for,in front of that door
there is you
My death waits like a beggar blind
who sees the world with an unlit mind
throw him a dime
for the passing time
my death waits to allow my friends
just one or two good times
before it all ends
we'll drink to that
to the passing time
my death waits there,between your thighs,
your cool fingers will close my eyes,
let's not think about the passing time
For whatever
And my death waits in the falling leaves
in a magician's mysterious sleeves;
with his rabbits,with his doves,
with his passing time
my death waits there,in all the flowers
where the blackest shadows will cower
where the lilacs chime
for the passing time
my death waits there,in your double bed
your cool fingers against my head
oh,let's not think about
the passing time
so confident that i'll go his way
whistle for him
and the passing time
my death waits like a bible truth
at the funerals of my youth
where we laughed at that -
the passing time
my death waits like
a witch at night
just as surely as our love is right
oh,let's not think about the passing time
For whatever lies behind the door
there is nothing much to do now
angel or devil,well,i don't care
for,in front of that door
there is you
My death waits like a beggar blind
who sees the world with an unlit mind
throw him a dime
for the passing time
my death waits to allow my friends
just one or two good times
before it all ends
we'll drink to that
to the passing time
my death waits there,between your thighs,
your cool fingers will close my eyes,
let's not think about the passing time
For whatever
And my death waits in the falling leaves
in a magician's mysterious sleeves;
with his rabbits,with his doves,
with his passing time
my death waits there,in all the flowers
where the blackest shadows will cower
where the lilacs chime
for the passing time
my death waits there,in your double bed
your cool fingers against my head
oh,let's not think about
the passing time
