There's a will to live and a way to die
But death is the only one who takes his time
A broken pocket watch, the look in your eye
Like you knew this was our last goodbye

And if I don't believe in God can I still pray
That that lonesome highway will bring you back someday

I knew a girl who wasn't afraid to die
She told me that as she closed her eyes
I know a trapeze artist who doesn't use a safety net
And he hasn't fallen yet

I'm drunk again on a Friday night
Screaming into florescent lights
Flat on my back on the bathroom tile
Dear God, its been awhile

But the path to the past is all broken glass
And I cut my feet open walking back
So I hailed a taxi like it was Jesus Christ
And I told the driver to disappear into the night

In my paralysis, you were a shaking fit
Beneath eyelids that carved out my silhouette
The drug that's just impossible to quit
My golden string for my all in bet

I'm off the edge, for the fall of faith
God said "Kid, you gotta carry that weight"

And I feel it heavy in my breath
This is my trust in love and my sudden death
I have your name written across my lips
And its spilling out like a sinking ship

I'm jumping in, I'm trusting you
You said "Kid, that's the dumbest thing you could do"

There was a young boy sitting on a porch swing
Thinking about the nest of wasps nestled under the gutter
He had been attacked by the nest after venturing too close
And his legs and his arms were swollen like a mosquito pregnant with blood

He was thinking of war and he was thinking of his father
Who had gone to war and left without a trace of him

His grandmother was calling out his name but he did not hear
As he was lost in thought

His grandmother had lost her legs to diabetes
And now was rotting in this house, in her final years
She would call out to him for help and he often wouldn’t hear
And she would berate him with promises of nothing for him

She would sit and listen to an old clock radio
That only picked up religious broadcasts
And she would listen to the gospel being barked distorted
Through the tiny speakers that garbled the words

He began to watch the wasps from a safe distance
To pass the time or for distraction
After her disease took his grandmother
He did not eat for three days

Not that he was traumatized
But he didn’t know how to cook
And nobody had noticed
That she had died

While watching the wasps towards the end of the summer
In a dry day
He began to wander and wonder about her
And he turned on her radio

All he heard was static

The hands of Mark David Chapman were set aside in seperate barrells
And the backbreakers carried them into the bomb shelter
The sky was raining black acid from a blue moon
Blackbirds picking at the festered wound of a ghost town

The children were dressed up as chinese dragons
And moved through a black hole made of pick up sticks
The domes of their heads were covered in sweat
Eyes wide as headlights in the haze

There was an old man who sat leaning against the barrells
Playing with an old kaleidoscope
Newspapers littered the floor with all the same story
Peace was coming

I have a closet full of spiral notebooks that contradict each other
Each one a piece of me that I don't want to remember
The chicken scratch of sleepless nights and unstable letters
And I have no intention of pulling them all together

My pencils are in fragments and my pens have all bled out
So I paint pictures with my self destruction and my self doubt
And while my star has burned bright but now its nearly burnt out
There's a fire in the attic and I'm spaced out on the couch

The black sheep is back in town and missed none of you at all
Accepted on himself all the cracks in that cell wall
His words sit collecting dust in a blackbird's drawl
Eyes wide open with a smile 'till the white horizon falls

I never wanted to fall in love because I always thought I'd die young
I never wanted to sing for fear of being unsung
I never wanted to watch my parents get old, because I know.

The paint is always peeling off my house when I visit it in my dreams
Its wooden voice and cold bones are the ceiling beams
I blame myself for letting it fall apart, because I know.

There is a beautiful girl lying in my bed, mascara on my pillow
And here I am with my troubles, a soundtrack of an old television show
I take my mind off of her words, because I know.

That's already my story
I could have been a better son
We're scared just like everyone else

We could haveve watched the giants fall
But we had no stones to throw
Yesterday was for the young
Today we buried them as the old
I miss your wild eyes
And the way you kissed me like Judas
This feels like a fever dream
And I'm struggling to live through it