| play with the bow at the bridge. |
| tune your voices to minor chords.
|
| this is the lowest we’ve ever been until we bend for the offering.
|
| we’re giving a knee jerk response to the awe. |
| we come strapped to the bed,
|
| on display from the duty of tour.
|
| they picked up the signals we tapped to the visitors
|
| our sea legs were lost on the march from the graves to the cross.
|
| we brandish the plague of the middleman’s heart.
|
| sing the rats through the gate.
|
| I was still in one piece when they tied me to the back of the car.
|
| but I met the road and I’ve slept with thousands of miles since the day I was
|
| born.
|
| our shoes are milled to the sole and our souls are skin and bones.
|
| if I’m a stranger still just move the severed pieces around. |
| so course is the
|
| world.
|
| we’re going back and forth and back and forth grinding our bodies into dust.
|
| we’ll never make it home alive.
|
| play with the bow at the bridge.
|
| all girls buy the enemy line. |
| woe. |
| such remarkable woe. |
| hold sight of him.
|
| point him out. |
| I was still in one piece when they tied me to the back of the car.
|
| but I met with the road and I’ve slept with thousands of miles since the day I
|
| was born our shoes are milled to the sole and our souls are skin and bones.
|
| if I’m a stranger still just move the severed pieces around. |
| so course is the
|
| world.
|
| we’re going back and forth and back and forth grinding our bodies into dust.
|
| war. |
| come with us home. |