st. petersburg (iv fridays)

i want to live in the element

i've spent my comfort and common sense

have not imagened lost innocence

i'll bleed you dry

no i won't pretend

i'll be coming home but i don't know when

i've felt your fire

i've breathed your air

we turned and twisted

our bruises bare

i cursed the ground still i feel you everywhere

in a fickle world

there's no stubborn lung

i can feel your ghost

when will you give up?

it's a funny thing i heard of once

the return of the prodigal son

the baby thrilled me

made me feel love

flashes of myrrh and flames of wood

i don't feel guilty

maybe i should

in a fickle world

there's no stubborn lung

i can feel your ghost

when will you give up?

it's a funny thing i heard of once: the return of the prodigal son

in a fickle world

there's no stubborn lung

i can feel your ghost

when will you give up?

it's a funny thing i heard of once

the return of the prodigal son

i saw the painty st. petersberg

repressed depiction of a return

i am the oil and pigment mixed

and i know nothing but i know this: i've been lost a long time in my head

i've followed all the signs but i was misled

i'll be coming home but i don't know when