They call holidays an option for a reason I heard you're coming back to life just for the fourth I've been catching all your ghosts for every season I pray to god you won't come back here anymore
do you pray with him, too?
They should deliver all my blessings in small brown paper handbags near the porch I wished I'd known that you were bleeding while I sat and watched you reading with the lord
I read with him, too
when you look at me I'll be digesting your legs cause I can hardly see what's in front of me these days and those days, too.
I've got to take what I'm making and turn it into something I've got to take what I'm making and turn it into something for you I've got to break what I'm making and turn it into nothing I've got to break what I'm making and turn it into nothing for you