This church here is burnin,
and I’m layin’ in the grass.
And I’m all out of breath,
and the fire’s catchin’ gas.

And up it goes the ashes they rose,
hopin’ the holes in the sky would take em.

The watering holes can’t cover the crackling lumber,
just like god don’t control the wind or the thunder.

Like heat puts holes in ice, I wanna bury you.  And the steam’ll always rise, and the rain falls down and the lakes’ll surely fill.  And there’s a high water mark where we left off.  Kiss these smoking lullabies goodbye.  You can always wrestle the better ones, put your fingers into barrels and brave the quiet.  I’ve counted all the lettered ones, I’ve numbered all the locked and hid, and I’m the one hopin’ that you’re like the ocean, full of salt and demons and dead.  For cryin out loud there’s a name here.  You cripple and you crow.  Say there’s someone callin and you’re listenin alone.

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