She always thought he was the kind of guy who liked the look but Couldn't stand the smell of smoke He always thought she was the kind of girl to script these collective feelings But she only writes when she's alone
Our hands were washed in broken light Our hands were stained before His eyes You found truth in rows of wooden pews I've found it in the way we move
We've got it figured out; we've got something to prove To all of you We feel as if we've found our way through the dimly lit streets and the graves our fathers laid They all have never felt so free, there's a distinct comfort in belief
We are the kids on front porch steps reminiscing about death Reflecting on the lives our mothers led She always thought he was the kind of guy who liked the look but he just liked the smell of smoke He always thought she was the kind of girl to script these collective feelings But she knows there are worse things than being alone
