Five nights too short a stay, the town still looks the same, old haunts remain.
By twelve the house resets, by one the soul regrets, these empty nests, where I'll sleep.
Same shirt, lost half the day. Make it up, what's there to say? How is there nothing to say?
Venture out into the cold, snow covers all, it all grows old, turns to soil, when I sleep.
And as I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, I may die before I wake, these tiled soles could start to break.
credits
from A Saint, Here!,
released April 26, 2019
By Caleb Michael
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