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?