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empty television brains
sit in designated graves
we no longer live this way
drinking every saturday

but i'm running out of friends
they just left me here for dead
heaven fills the empty space
maybe time will keep this place

break my heart and hope to die
now these memories don't subside
holy cross fits in my hand
miracles i understand

i can't go there now-a-days
since the past isn't a place
but i still visit anyway
it can't help but scream my name
yet steady blues remain instead
smoking cigarettes again

cross my heart and hope to die
will these memories subside
holy cross fits in my hand
miracles i understand

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