-bye, don't you cry Go to sleepy little baby Blacks and bays, dapples and grays, Coach and six-a-little horses Hush-a-bye, don't you cry Go to sleepy little
In the shadows of tall buildings Of fallen angels on the ceilings Oily feathers in bronze and concrete Faded colors, pieces left incomplete The line
The way you live today the way you pray Suffer the little children to come unto me For such is the kingdom of heaven God made it plain to see Little children
Sleep well, little children Wherever you are Tomorrow is christmas Beneath every star Soon the snowflakes will fall And tomorrow you'll see Every
red and blue I wish they never had to know Love can hurt them too See the little children laugh and sing, laugh and sing See the little children running
child he's coming for you there's nothing that you could do he lurks the night a ghoul with cruel intentions waiting for you to cross his way a predator
loves the little children All the children of the world Red and yellow, black and white They're all precious in his sight Jesus loves the little children
Little children, you better not tell on me I'm tellin' you little children, you better not tell what you see And if you're good, I'll give you candy and
O come little children come one and come all, and see what our Father on earth with his love, has sent for his people on earth with his love, has sent
I won't let you go I won't let you go Not to Detroit City Not to Chicago Well I won't let you go And I won't let you go Not to Mississippi Not to Tupelo
In here it's always midnight In here it's always dark In here there's always a shadow cast By these florescent lights In here forever is a dying myth
I'd like to see you out one night Dressed up like a Rock 'n' Roll star Straight out of some strange magazine Then I know I'd love you more But if I see
Scene one, curtain up See the couple, coffee shop Beatniks beating out beebop Rainy day, skies are gray But the couple feeling gay Boy is laughing at
She likes the photograph The one of you and Simone Out in the rain on a Sunday morning She likes to take it out Only when she's feeling down And then
I can see by the light of a broken sky That you're on the mend The photograph of your broken hearted eyes Will fade and bend I can see your face, A black
What is it in nature which lends its hand To the tongues of young wondering lovers in flight That by the silent boot of a dying word A scythe was taught
Ceramic tile fluorescent, yellow iodine I can feel your presence Sedated by the heavy medicine And come around, come around, come around The flowers
I can hear you sleeping Like a softly penned letter That you plan on keeping Sound asleep next to me Under the ink of a drying sky If I were a wordsmith