You tried to stop the bleeding, taped a gun against your head
It left you feeling like a medium between the living and the dead
Your face is lit by high beams, as cars pass along the road
There's a bed beneath your eyelids where a river used to flow
Some days you're like a martyr
Some days you just get stoned
Forget the things you wanted
You're here for what you owed
Some days you feel like Abel
Some days you feel like Cain
Reclining at your table while your brother cries in pain
And when you die, you don't know
Where the hell you will go
The train's coming so slow
I know, I know
On some scroll, we found your letters to some god whose name we couldn't write
Laid some leaves on down its center, sealed it up, and rolled it tight
Lit it up behind the temple, and in the warm glow of its light
I swear my darling's eyes resembled dark cathedrals in the night
Some days I feel like Jacob
Some days I feel like Job
Broken pottery for scraping, limps from wrestling with the Lord
Some days I pray to Jesus
Some days I don't pray for shit
Though I fumble with the pieces, some days they almost seem to fit
And when I die, I don't know
Where the hell I will go
The train's coming so slow
You know
You know