Give me a little, or give me some more,
it will not matter when it starts to pour.
Lights are all burning, they’re all burning out,
and in the end there is no room for doubt.
I came to see what’s yet to become,
I came to do what you have all done.
What will be said when we’re all alone;
what will be read in this empty home.
Sing your song now through all your pain;
sing your song now without thought of gain.
Tomorrow brings day; night calls the storm.
Through all the world, no new life is born.
Give me a little, or take what I have,
in the end you will pour wounds on your salve.
Lights are all burning, all burning below.
Here waits the tiger, the sloth, and the crow.