You said you miss having dreams.
It’s getting expensive to sleep.
Drugged out or filling the frame,
your mind takes you places you hate.

Outlines, shapes in the spheres;
hours are seconds to hear
metal cast in our years;
powerless to engineers.

Cold, freeze in the heat,
fountains of ink could never explain
these colorless hues;
amethyst fumes choke out the haze.

Haven’t we been here before?
Chemical weather from your
century spent with machines;
limitless discovery!

Clockwork, wind in the leaves;
metal forged under the sea.
Brave, speak, whisper to me,
“I don’t think we should believe...”

No, we should stay here, we pioneers, with feet in the ground.
Oh, we should then sing,
hymns of the sea,
with ash in our mouths.
Yes, we should stay here,
orphaned frontiers
will bloom in our hands.
Hey, withering fields
listen and yield a harvest from sand.

Come love,
and leave all our things behind.
Nothing we do makes sense at the time.
Down in the dirt we will lay our heads;
down in that flowerless flower-bed.
‘Cause we’re already, already, already, already dead.

Lyrics submitted by floodlight

Cecilia, You Saint song meanings
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