michael calls me in my dreams. if heaven were as easy as it seems, then i would slow down, then i would quit keepin my worry. but even my lord was in a hurry for someone he loved. for the man he loved.
my ends laid down to break bread with my headless heart. it tries again and again. and i know i must've looked like judas then. oh my god, it's hard to be a good friend. seeing the people carry their palms - it'll scorch us both to our ends to see his face again, to say his name again.
i've been coughing up "sweetheart" into the crook of my arm. it's force of habit, it's the crime i commit. but he calls me baby like an insult. to bury my love is an old art. and i'll do it again.
the both of them pulling nails outta their feet, while judas and i, with the desert underneath - it's a walk-away. it's written that we walk away. it's a walk-away. write it so i walk away.
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