The Wild Son

Your knives are sharpWhen you put them in my heartThough the truth, you'd say,Is I like them there that wayFrom this hoodlum skinI can always run to himUndeserved, capsizedIn the gutters of his eyesDarling I need you far more than I sayNone of my fears are as dear to meAnd a great light dimsEvery day I'm torn from himAnd our stars alignIn Elysian Fields at nightAnd the wheels, they turnAnd the fallen heather burnsAt a loss and scaredIn exile and unpreparedDarling I need you far more than I sayNone of my fears are as dear to meDarling I need you far more than I sayNone of my fears are as dear to meBlessed's the nightBlessed's the nightBlesses's the nightWhen none of my fears are as dear to meBlessed's the nightBlessed's the nightBlesses's the nightWhen none of my fears are as dear to meNone of my fears are as dear to meNone of my fears are as dear to me