Waking Up the Saints

 

well I was not your boyfriend, I was not your first
but you were mine, you were mine
and probably my best
you were still religious, thought we might be cursed
I was feeling pretty well blessed
as I remember, love

we were young and joyful, going out on summer nights
leaving all our friends behind and running off to hide
lying by the graveyard, making our bed of cotton white
opening our secret selves and looking inside
and finding
love, like an ancient promise
love, like a new religion
love, like a trumpet call come to raise the dead
love is what you called it, and you said
we were


waking up the saints, waking up the saints
waking up the saints every time


innocence is wasted, wasted on the young
you and I were full of that, spilling out our hearts
ever so inspired, burning secrets on our tongues
living for our summer nights, and practicing our art
and making love, on a pedestal
love, on an open canvas
love, like a perfect sculpture melting in your hand
love like a masterpiece that no one understands


waking up the saints, waking up the saints
waking up the saints every time
waking up, waking up, waking up the saints
waking up the saints every time


now that we are older, I don't know what became of you
I guess easy lovers make difficult friends
now and then I wonder if you think the way I do
pick up a dusty picture, look at it again
and call it love, like a sneaky memory
love, like a naked bandit
love, in a sweaty dream come to steal my rest
doing what you've always done the best


waking up the saints, waking up the saints
waking up the saints every time
waking up, waking up, waking up the saints
waking up the saints every time




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