The Well Lyrics

John Coffey The Well

Our hands try to draw what is nothing but divine
But our stroke is a part of the Venetian line
What was taken for style could well be a mistake
Or nothing but a flaw of the guilty hand

I'm nothing but a dead man now
Just a body laying at the bottom of a well
Was inside in such a way
The universe now feels like being indoors

Our hands try to draw what is nothing but divine
But our stroke is a part of the Venetian line
What was taken for style could well be a mistake
Or nothing but a flaw of the guilty hand

I'm nothing but a dead man now
Just a body laying at the bottom of a well

Believe me please, believe me now, I'm coming forth
But the fist of a murderer leaves nothing to chance

I was inside in such a way
The universe now feels like being indoors

But the fist of my murderer leaves me nothing to chance

I'm nothing but a dead man now
Just a body laying at the bottom of a well

Believe me please, believe me now, I'm coming forth
But the fist of a murderer leaves nothing to chance

Our hands try to draw what is nothing but divine
But our stroke is a part of the Venetian line
What was taken for style could well be a mistake
Or nothing but a flaw of the guilty hand