Paper Cathedral
par .TheDust.
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Écoute ce morceau sur la radio communautaire Anthem.
par .TheDust.
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Écoute ce morceau sur la radio communautaire Anthem.
I have built a paper chapel in the middle of the floor
With a steeple made of napkins and a bell that cannot ring
But I swear I heard it anyway, I swear I heard it sing
And the ceiling of my bedroom couldn't hold the holy thing
Oh the smallest little building can contain the biggest spring
And the echo in a paper house is bigger than before
It's a canyon and a cavern and a country and a door
And I'm kneeling in the middle and I'm asking it for more
Paper cathedral, built it with my hands
Every window is a wishing and a wishing is a light
Every hallelujah's homemade and it's holding on alright
And the choir is just a kid who couldn't sleep again tonight
Oh the smallest kind of faith is still the tallest kind of height
Paper cathedral, sing it where I stand
It's the quietest religion in the quietest of lands
And it's made of what I had and what I had was both my hands
There is nothing in a paper wall that anybody's known
But the whole entire silence is a place I go to pray
And the prayer is only three or four ridiculous things to say
And I say them to the ceiling and the ceiling says okay
Oh the ceiling is an honest little listener anyway
And I'm not so very lonely and I'm not so very grown
And a paper cathedral is a decent kind of home
And it's mine and it's a miracle and it's entirely my own
Paper cathedral, built it with my hands
Every window is a wishing and a wishing is a light
Every hallelujah's homemade and it's holding on alright
And the choir is just a kid who couldn't sleep again tonight
Oh the smallest kind of faith is still the tallest kind of height
Paper cathedral, sing it where I stand
It's the quietest religion in the quietest of lands
And it's made of what I had and what I had was both my hands
If a breeze comes through the hallway it will flatten and unwind
And I'll gather up the pieces and I'll build it all again
It will never be the same one and I'll never quite explain
Why the falling down is part of it, like weather, like the rain
Oh the holiest thing about it is that nothing will remain
So I'm building it on purpose out of everything that's kind
Out of paper, out of patience, out of leaving it behind
Out of everything I couldn't say and everything I find