With woven hands, we walk barefoot, we're crossing streams
From carpet bomb airplanes, we will drop anything
That seems to heavy for us to hold on our tongues
A rabbit's foot around your neck, well good luck to you
I Will stay put, like a weed, I have grown into
Something that's ugly parts are not always discreet
That which eats the sweetest honey from pollen-soaked bees

And I am my shadow; a lesser part of myself
Much like a slug is just a snail without a shell
Hover above you and slip my fingers in your mouth
And if you listen carefully, you'll be rewarded with
My tongue in an urn, which strips your longing to live
Hover above you and slip my fingers in your mouth
I am the chisel the carves out the name on your grave
I am the chisel that carves the wrinkles in your face

I have no faith in God, cause I've no fucking faith in myself
We are stale holy wafers set aside to collect dust on the shelf
And the mountains look better without any flags at their peaks
And what more can be said when your tongue is torn out from your teeth
And I try to hold it together but I am so afraid to die
But I don't to live forever, eternity is just too long a time

And I'm sorry, I need you know that I'm sorry
I want you to know that I love you, no matter how difficult things are
I still hold you close in the dark

And you share way too much in common with the one
That Saint Michael cast below the cloudy floor
Tell me you love me and get down upon your knees and pray that Whatever god exists forgives me
The mother pine; it sat erect above my head, you loathe the living but you dearly miss the dead
And on your bed; we're planting seeds upon your chest
As I try and imagine what you look like undressed

Watch a video of you learning to walk, I see your face is Rorschach blots, everywhere
And now they're saying that I'll pay for what I did, but I was just a stupid kid, nothing more

And xanax is a pill much easier to swallow than admitting to the world that you were wrong
It's harder to say you're sorry for the things you've done than it is to write another pathetic song
Closed-casket funeral, cause not a single one of us could bear to see you with a hole inside your head
And I tried my best to loosen up your noose but I think that I just tightened it instead