“St. Matthew”

She walks around on brass rings that never touch her feet
She speaks in conversations that never are complete
And looking over past things that she has never done
She calls herself St. Matthew, and she is on the run

She stoops down to gather partly shattered men
And knows that when it’s over, it will start again
Both the times she smiled, it was a portrait of the sun
She calls herself St. Matthew, and she is on the run

Part of it is loneliness
And knowing how to steal
But most of it is weariness from standing up
Trying not to kneel

She discovered three new ways that she could help the dead
Sometimes she must raise her hand to tell you what she said
Then standing in a landslide, she suddenly becomes
A girl that’s named St. Matthew when she is on the run

Part of it is loneliness
And knowing how to steal
But most of it is weariness from standing up
Trying not to kneel

She discovered three new ways that she could help the dead
Sometimes she must raise her hand to tell you what she said
Then standing in a landslide, she suddenly becomes
A girl that’s named St. Matthew when she is on the run