notre dame Songtext
von Paris Paloma
notre dame Songtext
I′m in the rafters looking down
It's cold up here
Between walls of stone
I made my home
And the air hangs
Heavy with the incense
Feathers fall from pigeons
Cooing in the tower
I rarely go down there, the view′s just
So beautiful from here and I can see everybody
At their worst points
At their worst points
I'm not a sadist, I enjoy just being able
To be witness of the loneliness and be a higher power
In case there isn't one
In case there isn′t one
I′m not a higher power, I just live in the ceiling 'cause
I′m lonely on the fringes, and it gives my life some meaning
In the exile
In my exile
The grey light filters through roof slabs
And the flagstones glow
Bright from the stained glass
A hundred feet below
As I tiptoe
Creaking over prayers
Pleading with their maker
Crying with the choir
I'm not immune to the sincerity below me
Makes me feel, it makes me holy, but the tears I understand
That I do not below
No, I do not belong
Watching the figures, all the saints, but mostly sinners
Come and go and some are desperate, but the others have
The sense that they do belong
And I do not belong
Some only turn towards the heavens when the end
Is feeling desperate, have the overwhelming feeling
That there′s nobody who's looking down (looking down)
At least I′m looking down
It's cold up here
Between walls of stone
I made my home
And the air hangs
Heavy with the incense
Feathers fall from pigeons
Cooing in the tower
I rarely go down there, the view′s just
So beautiful from here and I can see everybody
At their worst points
At their worst points
I'm not a sadist, I enjoy just being able
To be witness of the loneliness and be a higher power
In case there isn't one
In case there isn′t one
I′m not a higher power, I just live in the ceiling 'cause
I′m lonely on the fringes, and it gives my life some meaning
In the exile
In my exile
The grey light filters through roof slabs
And the flagstones glow
Bright from the stained glass
A hundred feet below
As I tiptoe
Creaking over prayers
Pleading with their maker
Crying with the choir
I'm not immune to the sincerity below me
Makes me feel, it makes me holy, but the tears I understand
That I do not below
No, I do not belong
Watching the figures, all the saints, but mostly sinners
Come and go and some are desperate, but the others have
The sense that they do belong
And I do not belong
Some only turn towards the heavens when the end
Is feeling desperate, have the overwhelming feeling
That there′s nobody who's looking down (looking down)
At least I′m looking down
Writer(s): Paris Paloma Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com