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HUDSON
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The Belfry
Like a fish washed up on shore
My face is pressed hard against the floor
The songs I hear, the sights I see,
Echoes through the belfry
Crumbling stone settled with dust
All overgrown and red with rust
The waning light the colored glass
Becoming night at last
The coming night at last
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How did I get here
And where was I before
Now I am like a fish washed up on shore
My mind was made
I'd climb the spiral stairway
And ring the bell to find
If I'm the only soul out here
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