The first time I heard the truth that was sung to me, a machine to my microphone, to the lips of the enemy
Well I poured over every shaking chord–You know I cried to your words, but I wept with the melody
Stumbled around with my headphones on listening over and over to a single song
I am mouthing the words, I am fingering the lid to a line that caresses me like you never did
So I contemplate our shit situation
You’re piss in my ear
And I heart leaking crimson
I came to find it’s the state we belong
You took to your sadness like a aroof to a raven
Now your verse decays to a whisper
But they words that your singing sound strangely familiar
And I remember where I heard them before
From the lips of your lover and into my ears
So now we both know there is no such thing as true love
A fiction from poets from in the first dawns of language
A cruel illusion, a first draft of heaven
For us godless heathens to have something to believe in
So now I long for a faith that will linger
Jesus for Christians and true love for singers
I drifted far from every shaken chord
Till your hum was returning
Like a phone off the ringer
The first time I heard the truth that was sung to me, a machine to my microphone, to the lips of the enemy
Well I poured over every shaking chord. But your hum was returning like a phone off the ringer.