Church - The Awful Ache Lyrics
Esmerelda falls in love every SaturdayAnd on Sunday morning don't remember a thingAnd the gringos are all saints of the latter day, that's the wayAnd it takes a little pain out of the stingHoly water tastes as sweet as wineHoly wine tastes just like bloodShe's drinking for loss, for the man on the crossShe says no more, the awful acheAnd in her bedroom there's a mirror thereSometimes it don't reflect a thingAnd from the street he sees her silhouetteAnd he can't forgetThat her kisses are as sweet as wineAnd her kisses taste like myrrhHer love is lost, like the man on the crossAnd no more, the awful acheEsmerelda walks on down to the cemet'ryAnd he's waiting for her in the shadeWith the angels and the sad old trees, patientlyBut she walks right past his graveShe's crying for loss, for the man on the crossShe says no more, the awful acheShe's crying for loss, and the man on the crossShe says no more, the awful ache
