I met a dead girl who said Give 'til you're poor
Gather toy soldiers that scatter the shore
Kneeling believers, greet each with grace
Go wipe a tear from your master's face
A coin from a pocket fell as we sat
Down through the years
You'll discover that we're each little children who wear bigger shoes
Every coin is there to lose
I asked Do you mind if I quiz how you died?
In answer, she asked me to cast aside every illusion and, bowing in prayer
Said, Go clean the dirt from your master's hair
Pressing once more about how she had passed
She held her expression then said, at last
Silence can break you, the risk it can bring
Who'd wanna be master of such a thing?
A timely reminder
I loosened my grip
The walnut-oil stain of my fingertips
Traced her footsteps from here to the shore
'Til I couldn't hear her anymore
I'm gonna keep this voice right here