I am not the devil under the water
Pulling you down by your old wooden ankles.
Splitting and shriveling,
seeping out of me.
God, I’m afraid of the songs you’ve been singing me
God I cannot hear your voice quite so clearly.
And I am the walls crumbling down.
We are clearly the saints
No, we are not afraid
Our names cannot be engraved in the sand.
I am just a sinner, pulling my splinters out
Chipping away at a crackling flame.
Well I felt my shoulders begin to get lighter
When I realized that it all would get harder than this.
But I don’t believe in the surface.
We can’t see through the sheets
No, we are not asleep
And I will not be the leaves on your tree.
I am the tides
I’m the beggar left for dead on the side
And I am the walls crumbling down
They’re watching me fall through the windows of saints
They’re making me something I am not.
Your brother got killed in the snow while you slept
But you never grew out of the secrets you kept
To keep all his light-headed hoping alive
Carried for miles inside of your mind.
Now I’m writing down all of my saintly complaints
And pulling the strings they’ve attached to my face
But I’m done haunting houses
And cursing at God
And filling up spaces with black and white fog.
I saw my whole life in the glass on the floor
Well what did you think all of that shaking was for?
Now I’m floating downstream
Chasing after my bones.
Well I guess I grew old
But I never went home.