On a cob web afternoon,
In a room full of emptiness
By a freeway I confess
I was lost in the pages of a book full of death;
Reading how we'll die alone.
And if we're good we'll lay to rest,
Anywhere we want to go.
In your house I long to be;
Room by room patiently,
I'll wait for you there like a stone.
I'll wait for you there alone.
And on my deathbed I will pray to the gods and the angels,
Like a pagan to anyone who will take me to heaven;
To a place I recall, I was there so long ago.
The sky was bruised, the wine was bled, and there you led me on.
In your house I long to be;
Room by room, patiently,
I'll wait for you there like a stone.
I'll wait for you there alone, alone.
And on I read until the day was gone;
And I sat in regret of all the things I've done;
For all that I've blessed, and all that I've wronged.
In dreams until my death I will wander on.
In your house I long to be;
Room by room, patiently,
I'll wait for you there like a stone.
I'll wait for you there alone, alone.
Writer(s): Young, Adams, Hicks, Johan Hans Wetterberg, Turner Washington
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