I'm chasing lions, and goblins and angels at night
|
With a barrel and a bottle by a grandfathers knife
|
There's blood on my collar, I wish it was mine
|
With less friends before me and more left behind
|
|
If you run to the moon
|
You're running alone
|
If you wait for the moment
|
It's coming too slow
|
Preacher the prophet
|
I've never known
|
|
But the Jesus of prostitutes is chasing my soul
|
But the Jesus of prostitutes is chasing my soul
|
|
With oceans before me and oceans to grow
|
The price of this freedom has cost me my home
|
Stood on the mountains of mint fields of gold
|
I wish I wasn't here standing alone
|
|
If you run to the moon
|
You're running alone
|
If you wait for the moment
|
It's coming too slow
|
Preacher the prophet
|
I've never known
|
|
But the Jesus of prostitutes is chasing my soul
|
But the Jesus of prostitutes is chasing my soul
|
|
I remember on Hawthorne the rain and the smoke
|
I wish that the last words weren't the last we spoke
|
I was burning on fire from earlier years
|
The bitterness burns with regret in my tears
|
|
If you run to the moon
|
You're running alone
|
If you wait for the moment
|
It's coming too slow
|
Preacher the prophet
|
I've never known
|
|
Well living for bread ain't worth living at all
|
Suffer the darkness and wait for the dawn
|
This letter I'm writing won't find a home
|
Burning the thunder
|
And cold to the bone
|
|
Cause the Jesus of prostitutes is chasing my soul
|
Cause the Jesus of prostitutes is calling me home
|
|
-----------------
|
Hawthorne
|
| Mat Kearney |
