Lyrics: Hawksley Workman. The Future Language Of Slaves.

Come over here; whisper into my ear.
Don't waste your breath
on anyone else but me.

And warm your body in bed;
Let us wake up and talk a while.
I tell you I'm scared,
I tell you I'd fight for us both.

But you come from the town where Gandhi was born,
and you say I always talk tough when I get drunk.
So why don't we pray, whispering the
future language of slaves?

I should rejoice,
Maybe give voice to a song
For what brought me here to your arms,
Into our painfully true love.
And god may be close;
God only knows
Really, to say.

And what would we do in our last moments in time?
Would we make love, or make haste to a mobile phone?
Or would we break bread, drink the blood that is shed,
And pray to our god,
Whispering the future language of slaves?