God is love and love is real   But the dead are dancing with the dead   And though all that's charming disappears   All of things lovely only hurt my head   As I gather stones from fields   Like pearls of water on my fingers' ends      And wrap them up in boxes   Safe from windows, from things that break      As the night-time shined   Like day it saw my sorry face   Hair a mess but it liked me best that way   Besides, how else could I confess?   When I looked down like if to pray   Well I was looking down her dress      Good God, please   Catch for us the foxes in the vineyard, the little foxes      So turn your ear, musician, to silence   Because they only come out when it's quiet   Their tails brushing over your eyelids   Oh wake up, sleeper, and rise from the dead   Or the fur that they shed will cover your bed      In a delicate orange-ish cinnamon red   Ah, I don't need this   I have my loves   I have my doubts   I don't need this