Lletres: Portugal. The Man. Church Mouth.

Sell me, I'm a skeptical boy
And if you need help I'm not easily found
We met the man in the deep deep south
with the gritty smile and the dirty old church mouth
"my breath was short better hit the ground runnin"
papers, read and weigh down the stands
It's cold here and waiting weighs on this man
still not full, I need a pass and a page
march stepped some steps and it spoke some
war tongues flickered about that dirty old church mouth
fill me up with money gold cause ain't
nobody ever need me
my salt was skin of maps made whole gotta
get out gotta sell this soul
I'll be better when that sleep comes and finds me
stroll about through these forks and roads find
me in the pines in the sleet and cold
Shine on, in this brilliant paced pulse
all I need in this life is this love
"march stayed with the dirty old church mouth"
fill me up with money gold cause ain't
no body ever need me
my salt was skin of maps made whole gotta
get out gotta sell this soul
We met the man in the deep deep south with
the shit teeth smile that
poured about the church's mouth
fill me up with money gold cause ain't
nobody ever need me
then take me to the steeple let the
preachers hands a bathe me
"march stayed with the dirty old church mouth"