All Get Out
church doors and skeptics
Select language to translate this lyric
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. Whats 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 you(we) figure this 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.