I found you holding a nail and a fragile piece of paper What a lovely plot, nail it to a door Two years later with a bag and a bowl What a firm grip. What’s true to you?
You found me holding a record sending calls to your hand “Let me speak to someone sitting close” Two years later with the cancer in my heart What a self-righteous act of youth
I hope I hope you I hope You figure it out, figure it out
There’s blood on our shoes And we love this room Our brothers hands on our heads A warm touch and an honest prayer
I hope I hope you I hope You figure it out, figure it out
I hope I hope we I hope We figure it out, figure this out