Terre Haute Wovenhand
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Terre Haute" by Wovenhand. Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
Flash your language covered on the shelf in dust
This street was once a creek of a one Lord rule I trust
Duly, duly signed, Cora Cora Carter
Born of the fall, in a state of Texas
Paid in full Fort Bliss, 1936
Terre terre haute
All be hollow
He takes his breath
Away the four winds follow
Wolves tied on strings to his good words of promise
These are stones around the peoples neck
Wound on string, drawn back stern
The arrow sings to whom it may concern
Talihina boon, iron road Oklahoma
It is his spirit, it is his fruit
It is he who paint by numbers
It is his spirit, it is his fruit
Terre terre haute
All be hollow
He takes his breath
Away the four winds follow
Lord Jesus, come bestow belief
The beauty of the finished work
You regard him not risen on the ancient horizon
Think yourself too hard, go on cast your lots
Terre terre haute
All be hollow
He takes his breath
Away his spirit follow
It is his spirit, it is his fruit
It is he who paint by numbers
It is his spirit, it is his fruit
It is he who paints by numbers
Judges and Ruth
Wound on string, drawn back stern
The arrow sings to whom it may concern
Talihina boon, iron road Oklahoma
There, there, there
This street was once a creek of a one Lord rule I trust
Duly, duly signed, Cora Cora Carter
Born of the fall, in a state of Texas
Paid in full Fort Bliss, 1936
Terre terre haute
All be hollow
He takes his breath
Away the four winds follow
Wolves tied on strings to his good words of promise
These are stones around the peoples neck
Wound on string, drawn back stern
The arrow sings to whom it may concern
Talihina boon, iron road Oklahoma
It is his spirit, it is his fruit
It is he who paint by numbers
It is his spirit, it is his fruit
Terre terre haute
All be hollow
He takes his breath
Away the four winds follow
Lord Jesus, come bestow belief
The beauty of the finished work
You regard him not risen on the ancient horizon
Think yourself too hard, go on cast your lots
Terre terre haute
All be hollow
He takes his breath
Away his spirit follow
It is his spirit, it is his fruit
It is he who paint by numbers
It is his spirit, it is his fruit
It is he who paints by numbers
Judges and Ruth
Wound on string, drawn back stern
The arrow sings to whom it may concern
Talihina boon, iron road Oklahoma
There, there, there
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!