Simon Balto - The Cut Lyrics

Simon Balto – The Cut Lyrics

At the year’s first thawing, in a house up on the ridge,
You stagger to the window and squint across the bridge.
And then you close up all the curtains, and sink back into bed,
And sing a song into your pillow, one that’s born inside your head.

And in your singing, you will heal your mother’s pain,
It’s deep just like the cut inside a mountain from which she came.

You’d climb the highest mountains, and burn the deepest seas,
To lie upon the floorboards with the world between your knees.
And there’s a pistol in the cupboard that you put away, at least for now;
It used to bring you solace, but you don’t need it now, somehow.

‘Cause in your loving, you figured out your heart’s true size;
It measures well against the mountain’s cut from which you rise.

But when that light it fades out, and a sparrow comes rushing through;
It lights upon that cupboard, and turns its head to you.
And then you stumble across the distance between your weakness and the end,
To pry those wooden doors wide and see what wounds are there to mend.

And in your sinning, you will see your father’s aged face;
It’s shrouded like the cut inside a mountain to which you race.

And in the deepest winter, a sickness is taking hold.
And It conjures up your terrors, and turns your pretty eyes cold.
And then you hurl up a prayer, one that breaks God’s heart in two;
And as he lies there crippled, a calm comes over you.

But at your dying, will you rise up with the Good Lord’s call,
Or crumble like the cut inside a mountain into which you fall?

Yes at our dying, will we rise up with the Good Lord’s call,
Or crumble like the cut inside a mountain into which we fall?