We were walking through the ruins
On a yellow morning; with my pockets full
And spirits high
There's something stirring
There's something waiting outside
The bricks are bleeding mysteries
A film noir expectation of a meeting
By an open fire place feeding red books
To the cold, to old ash
I still have the dirt on my hands
I'm the heartbeat in the staircase
Rattling banisters, rising through a spiral
Back in sober air
We were walking through the ruins
On a yellow morning; with my pockets full
And spirits high
There's something stirring
There's something waiting outside
Cattle fields and temples
Lining my horizons
On a road, at a rest stop
Flying through these old lands
Tired only part time
A liar notes by candle light
Seven thoughts for these men
Six more than I wrote
Simple symbols, cold hands
The Ghost of James Thomson Video (MV)
Performed By: The Hanging Bandits
Language: English
Length: 2:06
Written by: Alexander Laurance, Andrew Fletcher, Santiago Wais
The Hanging Bandits - The Ghost of James Thomson Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
We were walking through the ruins
On a yellow morning; with my pockets full
And spirits high
There's something stirring
There's something waiting outside
The bricks are bleeding mysteries
A film noir expectation of a meeting
By an open fire place feeding red books
To the cold, to old ash
I still have the dirt on my hands
I'm the heartbeat in the staircase
Rattling banisters, rising through a spiral
Back in sober air
We were walking through the ruins
On a yellow morning; with my pockets full
And spirits high
There's something stirring
There's something waiting outside
Cattle fields and temples
Lining my horizons
On a road, at a rest stop
Flying through these old lands
Tired only part time
A liar notes by candle light
Seven thoughts for these men
Six more than I wrote
Simple symbols, cold hands
On a yellow morning; with my pockets full
And spirits high
There's something stirring
There's something waiting outside
The bricks are bleeding mysteries
A film noir expectation of a meeting
By an open fire place feeding red books
To the cold, to old ash
I still have the dirt on my hands
I'm the heartbeat in the staircase
Rattling banisters, rising through a spiral
Back in sober air
We were walking through the ruins
On a yellow morning; with my pockets full
And spirits high
There's something stirring
There's something waiting outside
Cattle fields and temples
Lining my horizons
On a road, at a rest stop
Flying through these old lands
Tired only part time
A liar notes by candle light
Seven thoughts for these men
Six more than I wrote
Simple symbols, cold hands
Writer: Alexander Laurance, Andrew Fletcher, Santiago Wais
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid