Priests

And who will write love songs for you
 When I am Lord at last
 And your body is the little highway shrine
 That all my priests have passed
 That all my priests have passed?
 My priests, they will put flowers there
 They will kneel before the glass
 But they'll wear away your little window, love
 They will trample on the grass
 They will trample on the grass
 And who will shoot the arrow
 That men will follow through your grace
 When I am Lord of memories
 And all your armor has turned to lace
 And all your armor has turned to lace?
 The simple life of heroes
 The twisted life of saints
 They just confuse the sunny calendar
 With their red and golden paint
 With their red and golden paint
 And all of you have seen the dance
 That God has kept from me
 But he has seen me watching you
 When all your minds were free
 When all your minds were free
 And who will write love songs for you
 When I am Lord at last
 And your body is the little highway shrine
 That all my priests have passed
 That all my priests have passed?
 My priests, they will put flowers there
 They will stand before the glass
 But they'll wear away your little window, love
 They will trample on the grass
 They will trample on the grass