This song goes out To all the hopeless sinners, With grave allegiances, So meaningless and vain,
The walking wounded in a pageant of contenders Who balance on a rail of pain for just a little of rain
And everything is barely mist, blood relations and bricks My expression, my confession, add it up, extract a lesson, more than this, Once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me: can that be all there is?
In my rectory of doubt, I kneel to pray like one devout, As time the great gray dreamless sleep of a useless modern god Erodes away each storied day as wretched Adams with hell to pay Content upon a rail of pain for just a little rain.
And everything is dearly missed, blood relations and bricks My expression, my confession, add it up, extract a lesson, more than this, Once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me: can that be all there is?
There’s an endless disposition, And it doesn’t mean a goddamn thing— There’s space for a paper-airplane race in the eye of a hurricane.
And if pigs could fly, then surely so could I, But this pedestrian knows better than to even try, And my divinity is caught between the colors of a butterfly.
And everything is dearly missed, blood relations and bricks My expression, my confession, add it up, extract duress and more than this, Once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me: can that be all there is? All there is?