| What gives this mess some grace
|
| Unless it’s kicks, man
|
| Unless it’s fiction
|
| Unless it’s sweat or it’s songs
|
| What hits against this chest
|
| Unless it’s a sick man’s hand
|
| From some mid-level band
|
| He’s been driving too long
|
| On a dark windless night
|
| With the stereo on
|
| With the towns flying by
|
| And the ground getting soft
|
| And the sound in the sky
|
| Coming down from above
|
| It surrounds you at times
|
| And it’s whispering, oh
|
| What pulls your body down
|
| That is quicksand
|
| So we climb out quick, hand over hand
|
| For your mouth’s all filled up
|
| What picks you up from down
|
| Unless it’s tricks, man
|
| When I been fixed, I am convinced
|
| That I will not get so broke up again
|
| And on a seven day high
|
| That heavenly song
|
| Punches right through my mind
|
| And pumps through my blood
|
| And I know it’s a lie
|
| But I still give my love
|
| And my heart’s all alive
|
| For your hands to pluck off, oh
|
| What gives this mess some grace
|
| Unless it’s fictions
|
| Unless it’s licks, man
|
| Unless it’s lies or it’s love
|
| What breaks this heart the most
|
| Is the ghost of some rock 'n' roll fan
|
| Exploding up from the stands
|
| With her heart opened up
|
| And I wanna tell her, your love isn’t lost
|
| Say, my heart is still crossed
|
| Scream, you’re so wonderful
|
| What a dream in the dark
|
| About working so hard
|
| About growing so stoned
|
| Trying not to turn up
|
| Trying not to believe in the light on your own
|
| La, la, la, la, oh, oh, oh, oh |