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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Florence Welch
Vocals
Isabella Summers
Piano
Mark Saunders
Bass
Christopher Lloyd Hayden
Drums
Tom Monger
Harp
Sally Herbert
Violin
Oli Langford
Violin
Rick Koster
Violin
Gillon Cameron
Violin
Warren Zielinski
Violin
Richard George
Violin
Ian Burdge
Cello
Max Baillie
Viola
Mark Rankin
Bass
Rob Ackroyd
Guitar
Rusty Bradshaw
Keyboards
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Isabella Summers
Songwriter
Florence Welch
Songwriter
Sally Herbert
String Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Paul Epworth
Producer
Mark Rankin
Mixing Engineer
Isabella Summers
Assistant Recording Engineer
Ted Jensen
Mastering Engineer
Ben Roulston
Recording Engineer
Lyrics
And the heart is hard to translate
It has a language of its own
It talks in tongues and quiet sighs
And prayers and proclamations
In the grand days of great men and the smallest of gestures
In short, shallow gasps
But with all my education I can't seem to command it
And the words are all escaping, and coming back all damaged
And I would put them back in poetry if I only knew how
I can't seem to understand it
And I would give all this and heaven too
I would give it all if only for a moment
That I could just understand the meaning of the word you see
'Cause I've been scrawling it forever, but it never makes sense to me at all
And it talks to me on tiptoes
And it sings to me inside
It cries out in the darkest night
And breaks in the morning light
But with all my education I can't seem to command it
And the words are all escaping, and coming back all damaged
And I would put them back in poetry if I only knew how
I can't seem to understand it
And I would give all this and heaven too
I would give it all if only for a moment
That I could just understand the meaning of the word you see
'Cause I've been scrawling it forever, but it never makes sense to me at all
And I would give all this and heaven too
I would give it all if only for a moment
That I could just understand the meaning of the word you see
'Cause I've been scrawling it forever, but it never makes sense to me at all
No words and poor language
It doesn't deserve such treatment
And all of my stumbling phrases never amounted
To anything worth this feeling
All this heaven never could describe such a feeling as I'm healing
Words were never so useful
So I was screaming out a language that I never knew existed before
Writer(s): Florence Leontine Mary Welch, Isabella Janet Florentina Summers
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