David Berkeley Follow

A wounded town, where the winds won’t blow*
The rain won’t fall, but the clouds won’t go.
There’s a fallen man hears a minor tune.
There’s an empty bed in an empty room.

With the shudders closed and the fire low,
The rains won’t fall, but the stars won’t glow.
There’s a lonely girl, and her dress is torn.
A baby knows when her mother mourns.

Oh Marie, it’s not like me to fall apart.
Oh Marie, it’s not like me.

A wounded town and the hill below,
Rains won’t fall, but the winds won’t blow.
Cause when a village turns into walls and woes.
And a father’s hands can’t patch the holes.

Oh Marie, it’s not like me to fall apart.
Oh Marie, it’s not like me.

The old church roof caved in long ago.
But its bell still rings, so sad and slow.
Cause when a body burns into smoke and soul,
And a father’s hands can’t patch these holes.
No a father’s hands can’t patch these holes.

Oh Marie, it’s not like me to fall apart.
Oh Marie, it’s not like me.
Oh Marie, it’s not like me to fall apart.
Oh Marie, it’s not like me.
Oh Marie, it’s not like me.