I find myself busy often
I make myself do it
panic in my backpack
I'm a fearful kind of man

I don't see a face in the skies
but the stars are warm enough
breaking bread never cleared my head
it just cleared my conscience

I am the sun
with the world around me
getting tired of the same view

these people talk like broken records
I empathize.
Say strange things and see what happens

Who am I to understand myself?
Who am I to understand the skies?
its a heavy kind of light
that brings to finally to sleep

Let me be
with my nicotine
warm whiskey
and peace

I don't find Him most days
but He leaves me cheerios
on the way to my newspaper bed
I don't know if I love that or hate it

They say the things you do
come back to haunt you
that makes me man
and You the ghost

still,
the only time I feel peace
is when You circle me.