What gives this mess some grace unless it's kicks, man

Unless it's fiction

Unless it's sweat or it's songs



What hits against this cheat unless it's a sick man's hand

From some midlevel 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 the sound in the sky

Coming down from above

It surrounds you at times

And it's whispering, oh



What pulls your body down, that is quicksand

So, we climb out quick, hand over hand

For your mouth's all filled up



What picks you up from down unless it's tricks, man

When I 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 pumps through my blood



And, oh, it's a lie

But I still give my love

And my heart's all alive(?)

For your hands to pluck off



What gives this mess some grace unless it's fictions

Unless it's 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

Exploding up from the stands

With her heart opened up

And I want to 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 up

Trying not to believe in the light



On your own

La la la la

Ohhh oh ohh