Holed up in a shed out west, with a muzzle up against your chest. They’ll never know what drove you. They’ll never know what they took.
With disaster on the brink, you’ll shed the tears and skin that stink of the dead. We’re sorry about the weather. We’re sorry for your luck.
Just lay your weight to the rain. They’ll call your name — someday.
Tie a tourniquet around your heart and please try to forget about the stars. We pray to God you’re okay. We hope like hell you’re safe.
Just hide your face from this hate. We’ll rise again — someday.