Like a burning monk
You’re my light flare out in the dark
You’re my constant call to arms
Took the blindfold off
They’d left chalk outlines where the future was
It’s a god damned war of attrition
It’s a death by a thousand cuts
And if these motherfuckers made it to Heaven
They’d burn the bridge when they got across

They’re getting their anchors
They’re gathering rope
You’re pushing to Heaven all alone
They’re grabbing your ankles
They won’t let you go
The ebb and the distant flow
They’re cutting your wings off
Built your ceilings out of stained glass

You’re caught like gravel in my skinned knee
The wound will close eventually
You’ll stay as a reminder of
How fucked this world can be
Held your funeral on a Tuesday
Holy water’s November-cold
The kid that pulled the trigger
Knew tomorrow couldn’t promise him hope

All these bastards are gathering rope
You’re pushing to heaven all alone
They’re grabbing your ankles
They won’t let you go
The ebb and the distant flow
They’re cutting your wings off
Built your ceilings out of stained glass
They were cutting your wings off
I was staring at my idle hands

Maybe I could have done something
Maybe I could have made a difference

John Wayne with a God complex
Tells me to buy a gun like shooting a teenage kid
Is gonna solve any problems
Like it’s an arms race
Like death don’t mean nothing
To know the heavy price of living poor
Walled in by red lines
Backed into a corner
Not knowing, growing up
What it’s like to belong here
In America

If everyone’s built the same
Then how come building’s so fucking hard for you?
It’s something we’re all born into
Nothing’s left up to grey
It’s black or white and sometimes black and blue
It’s something we’re all born into
Whoa
Now I know what’s in a name; not just my father’s
Three-fifths a man makes half of me
Why should I bother?
Merchants of misery stacking the deck
Fuck your John Waynes
Fuck your God complex
I’ve got everything in front of me, but can’t reach far enough
To touch these fever dreams they call American
I am the ghetto’s chosen one
The privileged bastard son

They’re getting their anchors
They’re gathering rope
You’re pushing to Heaven all alone
They’re getting their anchors
They’re gathering rope
You’re pushing to Heaven all alone

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