Up on a mountain over the plains
Christopher sat with his hands to his face
This urn is her casket, this ash her remains
It doesn't feel right just to throw it away
So he kept it with him everywhere that he strayed
With long narrow shadows he shouldered the weight
If I keep her with me, then I'll keep her safe
He choked down the words that he wanted to say
Wish I could run from the place that poisons my passion away
Wish I never wrote her anything
Let this be the last song I sing
Grooves in his shoulders, the urn still in his clasp
Christopher struggled against the river so fast
Imaginary messiahs like the world on his back
Pushed him under the current where he drowned with the ash
There's no moral to your story
Yeah they're lying again my friend
There's no moral to your story, my friend
Say goodbye to the place that poisons your passion away
If you write a lost love anything
Don't let it be the last song you sing
