I knelt at the sink,
Like a priest or a prince.
Maybe I'm to be a king,
And they're waiting for me at Westminster.
And the walls are paper thin, I hear the neighbor's arguing,
Could you lower your voice?
I would sell my unborn daughter (maybe)
We didn't stage a passion play,
Didn't change our given names,
Or waltz to our bed,
Or need to make sense,
But I see your skin, paler now,
Than the host in your mouth,
Where the truth never seems to be.
Now the burning branch never speaks to me,
It whispers like...
I don't wanna be your vessel any more,
I don't wanna be your vessel any more, "
These are my words, this is my mouth,
I don't wanna be your vessel now.
And I may not see the future,
But I see its lonely architect at the door of my house,
I don't wanna be your vessel any more,
I don't wanna be a vessel of your doubt.
Truly I never dreamt
Of all the dumb accoutrement,
I would want for myself,
For the shelf.
I laid it all at your feet,
On your neck and your cheek,
But the burning branch wouldn't speak to me!
I don't wanna be your vessel any more,
I don't wanna be your vessel any more,
These are my rules, this is my house,
I don't wanna be your vessel now.
And I may not see the future,
But I see its lonely architect at the foot of my bed,
I don't wanna be your vessel any more,
Didn't wanna be your vessel anyway.
