She walks around on brass rings that never touch her feet   She speaks in conversations that never are complete   And looking over past things that she has never done   She calls herself, "St Matthew" when she is on the run      She stoops down to gather partly shattered men   And knows that when it's over it will start again   Both the times she smiled it was a portrait of the sun   She calls herself, "St Matthew" when she is on the run      Part of it is loneliness and knowing how to steal   But most if it is weariness from standing up, trying not to kneel      She discovered three new ways that she could help the dead   Sometime she must raise her hand to tell you what she said   Then standing in a landslide, she suddenly becomes   A girl that's named "St Matthew", when she is on the run      Part of it is loneliness and knowing how to steal   But most if it is weariness from standing up, trying not to kneel      She discovered three new ways that she could help the dead   Sometime she must raise her hand to tell you what she said   Then standing in a landslide she suddenly becomes   A girl that's named "St Matthew", when she is on the run