En Traducidas.net encontrará la traducción al castellano de las letras de La Dispute y muchos artistas y grupos más
Stained-glass and the choir sing out that strong and ceaseless
chorus here. So sweet the voices, sweep like leaves into the street.
On Eastern, a celebration carried on for God and hope and
refuge To keep each other, life; give shelter from the storm. And
keep warm. The congregation gathers outside in the parking lot, each
service done They keep the old hymn rolling on and on and I see
the scene in color each day driving out to Eastown, That old
abandoned church and have I gone the same sad way? Have I
gone the same sad way? Through the sixties flourished and the
seventies in flux. The eighties fluctuate each year unclear of when
the money would dry up. And when the nineties violent crime and
rising unemployment rates came by That parking lot grew dim and thin
of sinners and saints Until the voices, unceasing, slowly faded to
black Until the weeds stormed the concrete from unattended cracks.
It had to know, had to feel that glory never coming back,
Like I could feel it when the passion left, the last of what I had,
It had to know like I knew. And I can't find it still.
Might not ever. Ten years now standing vacant.
Ten years on empty, maybe more. Once held the faith of
hundreds, Soon one more cell phone store. For years they
gathered here Inside the building sound and true To sing their
praises to a god that gave them hope To carry on, to carry through.
So, I've been thinking about that, Sometimes go slow when I
drive by, How a home of stone and a house so holy Grows so
empty over time. What gave those people purpose Past death
approaching constantly Now left to crumble slowly, Now left to
wither with the weeds. Now left to ice and vandals, The
advent candles long since gone, The old foundation shifting hard,
The concrete overgrown, but That stained-glass window sits
untouched amongst the brickwork worn, A symbol of the beauty only
perfect at that moment we were born. And just the other day I swear
I saw a man there Pulling weeds out of the concrete, sweeping up and
patching cracks, I saw him lift a rag to wash the years of filth
from off those windows. Made me wonder if there's anyone like that
for you and me and Anybody else who broke and lost hope.
La Dispute
St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church Blues
St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church Blues
Stained-glass and the choir sing out that strong and ceaseless
chorus here. So sweet the voices, sweep like leaves into the street.
On Eastern, a celebration carried on for God and hope and
refuge To keep each other, life; give shelter from the storm. And
keep warm. The congregation gathers outside in the parking lot, each
service done They keep the old hymn rolling on and on and I see
the scene in color each day driving out to Eastown, That old
abandoned church and have I gone the same sad way? Have I
gone the same sad way? Through the sixties flourished and the
seventies in flux. The eighties fluctuate each year unclear of when
the money would dry up. And when the nineties violent crime and
rising unemployment rates came by That parking lot grew dim and thin
of sinners and saints Until the voices, unceasing, slowly faded to
black Until the weeds stormed the concrete from unattended cracks.
It had to know, had to feel that glory never coming back,
Like I could feel it when the passion left, the last of what I had,
It had to know like I knew. And I can't find it still.
Might not ever. Ten years now standing vacant.
Ten years on empty, maybe more. Once held the faith of
hundreds, Soon one more cell phone store. For years they
gathered here Inside the building sound and true To sing their
praises to a god that gave them hope To carry on, to carry through.
So, I've been thinking about that, Sometimes go slow when I
drive by, How a home of stone and a house so holy Grows so
empty over time. What gave those people purpose Past death
approaching constantly Now left to crumble slowly, Now left to
wither with the weeds. Now left to ice and vandals, The
advent candles long since gone, The old foundation shifting hard,
The concrete overgrown, but That stained-glass window sits
untouched amongst the brickwork worn, A symbol of the beauty only
perfect at that moment we were born. And just the other day I swear
I saw a man there Pulling weeds out of the concrete, sweeping up and
patching cracks, I saw him lift a rag to wash the years of filth
from off those windows. Made me wonder if there's anyone like that
for you and me and Anybody else who broke and lost hope.
