[ Merchant ]
[ cello: Larry Corbett/violin: Bruce Dukov/viola: Pamela Goldsmith/violin:
Ralph Morrison (quartet arranged and conducted by Paul Buckmaster) ]
To think of my task is chilling.
To know I was carefully building the mask I was wearing for two years, swearing
I`d tear it off.
I`ve sat in the dark explaining to myself that I`m straining too hard for
feelings I ought to find easily.
Called myself Jezebel.
I don`t believe.
Before I say that the vows we made weigh like a stone in my heart.
Family is family, don`t let this tear us apart.
You lie there, an innocent baby.
I feel like the thief who is raiding your home, entering and breaking and
taking in every room.
I know your feelings are tender and that inside you the embers still glow.
But I`m a shadow, I`m only a bed of blackened coal.
Call myself Jezebel for wanting to leave.
I`m not saying I`m replacing love for some other word to describe the sacred
tie that bound me to you.
I`m just saying we`ve mistaken one for thousands of words.
And for that mistake, I`ve caused you such pain that I damn that word.
I`ve no more ways to hide that I`m a desolate and empty, hollow place inside.
I`m not saying I`m replacing love for some other word to describe the sacred
tie that bound me to you.
I`m not saying love`s a plaything.
No, it`s a powerful word, inspired by strong desire to bind myself to you.
How I wish that we never had tried to be man and his wife, to weave our lives
into a blindfold over both our eyes.