Iron & Wine. Foot Of The Manger. Zeneszám

Awake through the night, and this flood water ?round her

Reminds her of the time and low country boys

And their bottles without her, though she?s on their minds



Hands in black mud, at the foot of the manger

She?ll always be young and free to be wrong

A black lamb licks the dirt off her feet with it?s tongue



We are blessed, aren?t we?

In the shade of these large auburn leaves

Unexpectedly we arrive where we?re all meant to be



Awake through the night, and she prays in the morning

For distance from harm and low country boys

With their wealth of protection and mean battle-arms



Hands in black mud, as she sits by the manger

And closes her eyes, the wind blows outside

A black car pulls the gravel and wants her to ride



So who will she love, with her head lowed like ashes?

The sky lost tonight, the wind blows outside

A glass jar in the window, her shape blocks the candlelight