What gives this mess some grace unless it's kicks, man Unless it's fiction Unless it's sweat or it's songs
What hits against this cheat unless it's a sick man's hand From some midlevel band He's been driving too long
On a dark windless night With the stereo on With the towns flying by And the ground getting soft
And the sound in the sky Coming down from above It surrounds you at times And it's whispering, oh
What pulls your body down, that is quicksand So, we climb out quick, hand over hand For your mouth's all filled up
What picks you up from down unless it's tricks, man When I been fixed, I am convinced that I will not get so broke up again
And on a seven day high That heavenly song Punches right through my mind And pumps through my blood
And, oh, it's a lie But I still give my love And my heart's all alive(?) For your hands to pluck off
What gives this mess some grace unless it's fictions Unless it's licks, man Unless it's lies or it's love
What breaks this heart the most is the ghost of some rock and roll fan Exploding up from the stands With her heart opened up And I want to tell her, "your love isn't lost" Say, "my heart is still crossed" Scream, "you're so wonderful" What a dream in the dark About working so hard About growing so stoned Trying not to turn up Trying not to believe in the light