| I’m shaking, my bones were tense
|
| I came to an ambulance
|
| Did we fight or did we dance?
|
| So I talked, I suppose
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| To a God my mother knows
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| About a high that left a hole
|
| It wasn’t fast
|
| And the glass painted in skin
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| Mixed in red
|
| And my fingers burning
|
| If this is it, what will they know?
|
| Is his faith dead or did it grow?
|
| This is it, my one chance
|
| Let me barter all I have
|
| I need more than I can give
|
| So please, take all the mess
|
| You know my heart, you know my head
|
| 'Cause I remember I can’t forget
|
| It wasn’t fast
|
| And the glass painted in skin
|
| Mixed in red
|
| And my fingers burning
|
| If this is it, what will they know?
|
| Is his faith dead or did it grow?
|
| This is love I didn’t know
|
| We recognize, we fail
|
| Does that make you a failure?
|
| See, you’re not a failure if you fail
|
| You’re just someone that was trying to do something
|
| That perhaps was a little bit difficult
|
| Yet, we label people as failures
|
| From our point of view when we see them
|
| We are meant to believe the best about others even when they stumble
|
| Friends, I will fail you
|
| But I’m not a failure
|
| Then He said
|
| Every sin, cast from east to west
|
| Clear & red
|
| And His wrists, they’re burning
|
| This is it, but will they know?
|
| Did he lose faith or did he grow?
|
| This is love I didn’t know |