They call holidays an option for a reason
|
I heard you're coming back to life just for the fourth
|
I've been catching all your ghosts for every season
|
I pray to god you won't come back here anymore
|
|
do you pray with him, too?
|
|
They should deliver all my blessings
|
in small brown paper handbags near the porch
|
I wished I'd known that you were bleeding while I sat
|
and watched you reading with the lord
|
|
I read with him, too
|
|
when you look at me
|
I'll be digesting your legs
|
cause I can hardly see
|
what's in front of me these days
|
and those days, too.
|
|
I've got to take what I'm making
|
and turn it into something
|
I've got to take what I'm making
|
and turn it into something
|
for you
|
I've got to break what I'm making
|
and turn it into nothing
|
I've got to break what I'm making
|
and turn it into nothing
|
for you
|
|
God, where have you been?
|
|
-----------------
|
Where Have You Been?
|
Manchester Orchestra |