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  • Still Wilson

They are tearing down the palace

The king, he can no longer pay

And that’s quite alright with us

He is not, not a good king anyway


They are tearing down the palace

Not one soul would claim the deed

Nobody wants a memento

From the house built of greed


And mothers with hungry babes rejoice at the sight

And the men with their empty pockets raise a glass by firelight

They’re tearing down the palace tonight


Sure enough, they are tearing down the palace

The gardens are all overgrown

The hearth is cold, the walls are bare

No ghost would call it home


So, return that stolen water and feed that poor man's dry land

And one day we’ll set a fine table with a harvest from that same farmer’s hand

And we'll share a meal where once a palace was turned to sand


And mothers with hungry babes rejoice at the sight

While the men with their empty pockets raise a glass by firelight


They are tearing down the palace

The king, he can no longer pay

And that’s quite alright with us

He is not, not a good king anyway

Let them tear down the palace

He wasn't a good king anyway

So they're tearing down the palace

  • Still Wilson

The art

of longing

I know it quite well

It's in the eyes

And written on your face

An image of that timeless spell


The melancholy hues

It's the art of longing

A portrait of the blues

It's the art of longing


The art of longing

The muted tones of goodbye

It's the fine details

And the shifting light

That catch my eye


Every setback, another brushstroke

Every heartbreak, another color

Every dark tint of lonely night

Balanced only by splashes of light

Light from the radiant joy of new love

And only by embracing the many ways of belonging

Do we come to know the art of longing


The melancholy hues

It's the art of longing

A portrait of the blues

It's the art of longing

It's the art of longing

It's the art of longing


  • Still Wilson

Something

In the light this evening

I must admit

Has me feeling quite blue

It's alright

I'll find some distraction

Truth is I know exactly

What I should do


I'll write you a heartfelt letter

Try to find the words for better or worse

How hard can it be

There's a book on my nightstand

Half read, that I could turn to

But all those great writers

The poets and deep insiders

Can't speak for me

Let alone, capture you


Now, I can't

Just reason it away

I can't simply

Just shake this feeling off

And like the tide, it will recede

But like the tide, it will return


And I'll try to find the words for better or worse

How hard can it be

There's a book on my night stand

Half read, that I could turn to

But all those great writers

Those poets and deep insiders

Can't speak for me

Let alone, capture you

© CUTS Music Group | Still Wilson