<Elvis Costello> page <Brutal Youth, Rem. 2002 (CD 1)> album page |
Favourite HourFigure hanging on a leather bandCog consults the watch he cups in his hand Bejewelled movement measures lost and vanished time Pray for the boy who makes his bed in cold earth and quicklime [Chorus:] So stay the hands, arrest the time Till I am captured by your touch Blessings I don't count Small mercies and such The flags may lower as we approach the favourite hour Now there's a tragic waste of brutal youth Strip and polish this unvarnished truth The tricky door that gapes beneath the ragged noose The crippled verdict begs again for the lamest excuse [Chorus] Put out my eyes so I may never spy Waving branches as they're waving goodbye Their vile perfume brings to my mouth a bitter taste The murmuring brooks had best speak up, it's a terrible waste [Chorus] |