Don't Speak ill of the Dead Lyrics

Wielding words like butchers knives into the room

I held you though you patronised

And spoke ill of the dead

In my arms the tundra thawed

The table rocked

A generation was reborn

A well earned rest the mocking ceased

What became of baby ray

when the father fired his shots

Was it for fame and money that a lineage was lost

Where are you returning to the sweet spot of the day

It takes more than just hopeful notions to love without delay

Retreating like an argument into a shell

Our misinterpretations cast out for words are spells

Dissolving ill timed ego trips

We fuelled the flood

I hoped it would remove your hood

The settling suds

What became of baby ray

When the father fired his shots

Was it for fame and money that a lineage was lost

What was it that dropped them to a place of no reprieve

Was it for lack of trying that their bond became diseased

Where are you returning to the sweet spot of the day

It takes more than just hopeful notions for us not to be afraid

It takes more than just hopeful notions to love without delay