Like a block party with smoke.
Little godspittle showers the hair on our arms.
My hair still smells like burning church.
I know folks brought under the grace of some fog there.
I know folks joined in word and deed there.
I know the love that won't falter without an altar.
Holy Holy Holy
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.
My Is bled all over the page,
and I couldn't cross my Ts 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.
Little godspittle showers the hair on our arms.
My hair still smells like burning church.
I know folks brought under the grace of some fog there.
I know folks joined in word and deed there.
I know the love that won't falter without an altar.
Holy Holy Holy
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.
My Is bled all over the page,
and I couldn't cross my Ts 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.