The inside, outside, first-time, the-last
I paid nothing to get in
been swimming in this idea
for so long now, it's almost become a sacrament
just like picking seeds up-off the ground
or painting flames across my chest
it's this
infliction, fiction, practice
that's now become the punishment
Love, how does it feel? Still giving this way,
the way you do...
Love, how do you feel?
Still giving this way,
the way you do...
Devotions, notions, blames, ideas
feels like a gun upon the head, still
21,000 miles around the earth
I guess to start is to begin
Here we have to bleed to feel.
guess I'll just sit and think again.
here we have to bleed to feel...
guess I’ll just sit and think again and sing
love…
 
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