When The Paint Grows Darker Still by Frank Black
I am just a weary singer
Moving through this world of ills
Hark the choir of predecessors
When the paint grows darker still
Once I found a golden trumpet
In the mash of an old landfill
Now I play for the spirits
When the paint grows darker still
Winter waited in my garden
When the sun did refuse to shine
Honeybees all in a slumber
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