The Bells of St. Thomas

I wake up in Antwerp In some rich woman's bed There's a man with a hammer Inside of my head She says, "I couldn't wake you I thought you were dead But you talked in your sleep I don't know what you said" I look in the mirror My eyes bleeding red There's a taste in my mouth Of stale brandy and lead Don't know how I got here Or if I was led But I know it's a Sunday For the bells in my head As they call to the faithful The quick and the dead The last days of judgement upon us And the bells on the roof of St. Thomas Are calling She says, "Are you hungry? You look underfed" "No, I'd better be going I'll have coffee instead" "Let me give you some money" I say, "There's no need You don't owe me nothing It's what we agreed" But the room's like a palace In a book I once read And the words that I'm thinking Would be better unsaid I search for my clothes Then she asks if I'll stay "There's a room for you here My husband's away" The bells of St. Thomas Are aching with doubt They're cracked and they're broken Like the earth in a drought I've searched for their meaning I just never found out Whatever they're expecting from us Or why the bells on the roof of St. Thomas Are crying I walk to the church, though it's empty by now The roof like an overturned ship, and a prow For a pulpit, and there it is upon the wall St. Thomas inspecting the wounds for us all It's a painting by Rubens Painted from life And it's flanked by a rich man And his elegant wife The wounds we all share And yet still need the proof You can feign your indifference Pretend you're aloof But the wounds we're denying Are there all the same And the bells of St. Thomas Start ringing again The saint I was named for The sceptical brother The rich man's wife In the arms of another And the exit wounds Of a love that's gone wrong She said she was leaving But she'd already gone And the last days of judgement Are finally upon on us And the bells on the roof of St. Thomas Are calling