Southern Gothic

I want to tell you something About the grace of faded things The draped compositions Hiding from the new world Behind old French doors The last rays of the setting sun On the cheeks of cherub faces The traces of their tears But you do not listen Your mind is somewhere else I speak with a frozen tongue In a dead language I want to tell you something About the grace of faded things The draped compositions Hiding from the new world Behind old French doors The last rays of the setting sun On the cheeks of cherub faces The traces of their tears But you do not listen Your mind is somewhere else I speak with a frozen tongue In a dead language There' s a world between us There' s a sunken garden Love lies bleeding there And words they mean nothing To anyone anymore.