There's nothing short of dying half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleeping city sidewalk, with sunday morning coming down
Out my window, out my window
Out my window, out my window
Rock of ages cleft for me
I hide myself in thee
Let the water and the blood cure what is wrong with me
Rock of ages does your spirit walk along my street?
Can it cure what's wrong with me? Can it cure what's wrong with me?
There's nothing short of dying half as lonesome as the sight
As a sleeping city sidewalk when sunday morning turns to night
Out my window, out my window
When my eyes shall, when my eyes shall close
Nothing short of dying, out my window
Nothing short of dying, out my window