Hold on to your hats
Dust off where you came from
Throw those cameras away
Embrace the things that you abstain from
If you could all shut up
Take a peek out from your hairstyles
God is gonna speak
Just as she comes through the turnstiles
Little stars arrayed around her head and I swear, against my will
I will be hers until the disbelieving ones are dead
Don't look to the skies
For a sign if it's gonna run smooth
It's just a drop of rain
Nothing compared to what we've come through
Little stars arrayed around her head and I swear, against my will
I will be hers until the disbelieving ones are dead
Tripping on her train, slipping off the chairs
There is nothing happens right in some affairs
We might dance through the cake and tread it up the stairs
As the revellers retire and divide up into pairs
Little stars caught within my hair and I swear, against my will
I will be hers until the disbelieving ones are dead