Like a block party with smoke
Little god spittle
Showers the hair on our arms
And my hair still smells like
Burning church
I know folks brought under the grace of some fog there
And I know folks joined in word and deed there
And I know the love that won't falter
Without an altar
Holy Holy Holy
My 'I's bled all over the page
And I couldn't cross my 'T's
Without a prayer and a bowed head
In the dark, back to ark, my feet were bare
There was glass in all of the parking lots
There was glass in all of the parking lots
There was glass in all of the parking lots
There was glass in all of the parking lots
Hoo-ooh
Hoo-ooh
Hoo-ooh
Hoo-ooh
Hoo-ooh
Hoo-ooh
Hoo-ooh
Hoo-ooh
Hiss on the house when a steeple calls out:
The AM static of a thousandth rescue mission
Your lashes were fastened, fascination came second
And the minutes were mashing up symbols with actions