Come to me, in the dark hours of the cold morning. Let me show you how beautiful it all can be, the watercolor masterpiece of brilliant sunlight raining down on us. I'll take you to the old church ridden with memories and the souls of the saved. We can crawl through the doors and play in the wet vines that dangle from fallen rafters. We can talk of the chores and sway 'cause the wine has tangled us all in the trapped church. Come to me, on the streets of the lost, among houses, not homes. Tell me the things that you thought would've hurt me when I was yours. We'll dance through the pain and talk about together for never, praying on beads that were blessed like a treasure.