Gospels

I have been to Boston, I’ve been to hell and back
I’ve survived my fathers heart attack
I guess the mountains never grow until there’s no room
I guess tonight there’s just another moon
All my fingers crooked from the day before
Still have something left enough to close the door
I guess our wounds are never healed, they just get overgrown
I guess we all consume eachothers bones
All these thorns curl out from the form that I keep
The ocean spills its secrets on the shore where I sleep
I guess some memories will never see the sun
I guess our work is never really done
I guess our work is never really done
I guess our work is never really done
I guess our work is never really done
I guess our work is never really done