What gives this mess some grace
Unless it kicks, man
Unless it's fiction, unless it's sweat, or it's songs?
What hits against this chest
Unless it's a sick man's hand
From some mid-level band?
He's been driving too long
On a dark windless night, with the stereo on
With the towns flying by and the ground getting soft
And a sound in the sky coming down from above
It surrounds you and sighs and it's whispering of
What pulls your body down, and that is quicksand
So, climb out quickly, hand over hand
'Fore your mouth's all filled up
What picks you up from down unless it's tricks, man?
When I've been fixed, I am convinced that I will not get so broke up again
And on a seven-day high, that heavenly song
Punches right through my mind and just hums through my blood
And I know it's a lie, but I'll still give my love
Hey, my heart's on the line for your hands to pluck off, oh
♪
What gives this mess some grace, unless it's fiction
Unless it licks, man, unless it's lies, or it's love?
What breaks this heart the most is the ghost of some rock and roll fan
Floating up from the stands with her heart opened up
I wanna tell her, "Your love isn't lost"
Say "My heart is still crossed"
Scream, "You're so wonderful"
What a dream in the dark about working so hard, about growing so stoned
Trying not to turn off
Trying not to believe in that lie all on your own
No, no, no, no
Oh, oh, oh, oh