i'm charting oceans for the future, writing songs for all the waves i'll color in the coastline and you'll fill in the blanks until my ink and architecture soak through the page and my blueprints fall like anchors, drowning depth with their weight. and the veins above grow taut with the falling saints, the arteries like ropes choking on their age, and the submariner's wife has forgot his name 'cause he sunk himself away from the shores of grace.
the horizon makes a fool out of my design, caught beneath the stitch between the ocean and the sky where i haven't got a single bottled note to rise where i haven't got a single flare to a spark a sign but i swear a saw a sail carrying a light a heat that comes and drains these trenches dry a rescue that would drown my own device-- and i think i see it now without the salt in my eyes.
'cause if i said that i could swim i'd be a liar. i'd be a liar, i'd be a liar, i'd be a liar…
the seas rend into orchards underneath my feet the dialogue resounds and i'm playing the lead my eyes will burn and oh! my throat will bleed for i will sing the beauty of this scene because you call me perfect and i call You blind 'cause the picture and the definition don't align but Your saliva is the tie by which the pages bind and Your breath the text that lets our justice redefine.
they call it a revival, but it's more like a birth when the marrow in my bones begins to mix with the earth and the water in my lungs mixes as mud with the dirt and "hallelujah!" is recorded as my first spoken word.