Holy Cross - Fog Lake

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 see less