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Platon Karataev
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Rust
You, you were the ground on
Which Jesus spit
And put it gently with his rough hands
On my closed eyelids.
You were the saint,
Who showed me grace,
I could wash my face in you
But also on my faith
You were the rust,
You were the rust, you were the rust
On my Scripture you were the dust.
You were the loss,
You were the loss, you were the loss
That cut my beating heart across.
You, you were the crowned
You were the wit
You were the pillar of fire that made the dark night lit
You were the truth
That must be told,
My soul is a white shirt but please unbutton it oh, Lord
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I was the rust,
I was the rust, I was the rust
On the nail (that) hung you on the cross.
You were the loss,
You were the loss, you were the loss
That cut my beating heart across.
You were the loss,
You were the loss, you were the loss
That cut my beating heart across.
You were the lust
You were the lust, you were the lust
For me when life was just a must.
You were the loss,
You were the loss, you were the loss
That cut my beating heart across.
You were the lust
You were the lust, you were the lust
For me when life was just a must.
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