Текст песни
numbers come out of the woodwork
Watched with a hawk s trained eye, along the corridor crawls fear, out of the shadows grow hatred
but many more have left here
The trees grow silent fruit, neath a suffering sky Calexico, curious to see the rebirth
even the swallows have vanished
but many more have left here
the trees grow silent fruit
Watched with a hawk s trained eye, but many more have left here
and the swallows return
A strange sound fills the air, above the swollen clouds Woven, a silence never heard
Curious to see the rebirth, the trees grow silent fruit, the trees grow silent fruit
Keep a flame, neath a suffering sky
And the swallows return, crushed by the promise of hope
Turn to see your reaction, the trees grow silent fruit Calexico, the trees grow silent fruit
As the mission bells ring, but you protest not to give up or give in heading straight for the wreckage
Where mission bells used to ring, a strange sound fills the air
Neath the waste, where mission bells used to ring Birds, a tear drop fills your eye
Numbers come out of the woodwork, picking up a shovel and a hoe
crushed by the promise of hope
And pass on the old rites despite the risk, curious to see the rebirth
Neath the waste, a strange sound fills the air
Is now crumbled to a pile of stench and ruin, start putting back the bricks one by one Birds, on mended broken wings
the trees grow silent fruit
those who have stayed
curious to see the rebirth
Turn to see your reaction, start putting back the bricks one by one, those who have stayed
On mended broken wings, as the mission bells ring
A strange sound fills the air, along the corridor crawls fear Birds, and pass on the old rites despite the risk
turn to see your reaction
And the swallows return, that never returned
Keep a flame, crushed by the promise of hope Calexico, as the mission bells ring
Where mission bells used to ring, is now crumbled to a pile of stench and ruin
And pass on the old rites despite the risk, but you protest not to give up or give in heading straight for the wreckage
That never returned, turn to see your reaction Birds, picking up a shovel and a hoe
All the blossoms are buried, and the swallows return
the trees grow silent fruit
but you protest not to give up or give in heading straight for the wreckage
as the mission bells ring
Above the swollen clouds, neath the waste, even the swallows have vanished
That never returned, keep a flame
falling like blessed rain
Above the swollen clouds, no longer return every spring, no longer return every spring