| When a room becomes an altar
|
| And what beast that must exist
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| It flies with music from our lips
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| And steals a kiss and blows it out, into the mist
|
| Where castles stand on cliffs
|
| And cobbled streets they wind and drift
|
| And moods are made and set but shift
|
| This place where skies are low and birds are big
|
| We went to sleep in day
|
| And woke again the same day
|
| We have learned to cheat the time
|
| And find the hours that the clocks cannot define
|
| Now as I looked up from that stage
|
| I felt the thing that had been made
|
| And how it raged, and how it raged
|
| How to explain?
|
| Something makes me howl
|
| And shiver to the core
|
| Oh outside if it was raining
|
| Then inside there’d be a storm
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| We’ve got a pair of hands for climbing
|
| And a pair of knees to spring
|
| And a pair of balls for strength
|
| And a pair of lungs to sing
|
| And these limp old chords
|
| That say: music is the language of us all
|
| To write these songs is to be written
|
| Ah the chorus always knows what is in store
|
| And what is more the thing that sings us
|
| Is the thing that makes us roar
|
| I felt that beast kiss on my neck
|
| We clapped our hands and heard them spread
|
| There was a trumpet and a call
|
| A pack of Spaniards screamed for more
|
| Music is the language of us all
|
| Music is the language of us all
|
| Music is the language of us all
|
| Music is the language of us all
|
| I find it hard to speak emotional
|
| Cause these things are the things that can’t be said
|
| And when it struck
|
| It strikes the memory from our heads
|
| Once I wrote two plays
|
| To be immortal for a night
|
| And despite the unknown hours
|
| Something happens when the light turns out the lights
|
| Then we fade and yawn
|
| To music that’s the language of us all |