All This & Heaven, Florence + the Machine.

And the heart is hard to translate, it has a language of its own.  It talks in tongues and quiet sighs, in prayers and proclamations, in the grand days of great men in the smallest of gestures, in short shallow gasps.  But with all my education, I can’t seem to command it.  And the words are all escaping me and coming back all damaged.  And I would put them back in poetry, if I only knew how.  I can’t seem to understand it and I would give all this and heaven too, I would give it all if only for a moment that I could just understand the meaning of the word, you see, because I’ve been scrawling it forever, but it never makes sense to me, at all.  And it talks to me on tiptoes, and sings to me inside, it cries out in the darkest night, and breaks in the morning light.  But with all my education, I can’t seem to command it.  And the words are all escaping me and coming back all damaged.  And I would put them back in poetry, if I only knew how.  I can’t seem to understand it and I would give all this and heaven too, I would give it all if only for a moment that I could just understand the meaning of the word, you see, because I’ve been scrawling it forever, but it never makes sense to me, at all.  And I would give all this and heaven too, I would give it all if only for a moment that I could just understand the meaning of the word, you see, because I’ve been scrawling it forever, but it never makes sense to me, at all.  No words, a whole language, doesn’t deserve such treatment, and all of my stumbling phrases never amounted to anything worth this feeling.  All this heaven… never could describe such a feeling as I hear… words were never so useful so I’m screaming out a language that I never knew existed before.

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