Wake Up Your Saints

I had a hole in the middle,
Where the lightning went through,
I told my friends not to worry,
My wife would know how to fix it.
Hole in the middle,
I’m seeing less of you.
Now I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t know what I’ll do.
It’s easy to lose your grip.
It’s easy.
I never tell my decisions to the ones I adore,
I just show up like a Bible-breather outside the door.
But when I look in the window,
I see girls on TV,
Living and dying in LA, and it means nothing to me.
It’s easy to lose your grip.
It’s easy.
It’s easy to lose your grip.
It’s easy.
So I walk through the streets I love,
And I’m led to the house I built,
And I walk through the streets I love,
And I lay in your bed again.
Wake up your saints, Jenny, I need them,
Jenny, I need them, today.
Wake up your saints, Jenny, I need them,
Jenny, I need them, today.
I didn’t have to explain to her that I wasn’t dead,
She sat me down and lit some colored candles over my head.
She said, «You're right it’s a living, but you’re wrong for the life,
You know you never should’ve listened to my father’s advice.»
It’s easy to lose your grip.
It’s easy.
It’s easy to lose your grip.
It’s easy.
So I walk through the streets I love,
And I’m led to the house I built,
And I walk through the streets I love,
And I lay in your bed again.
Wake up your saints, Jenny, I need them,
Jenny, I need them, today.
Wake up your saints, Jenny, I need them,
Jenny, I need them, today.