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lyrics

Well, I tried to write a letter to the king of all creation and I got a postcard saying, "Well now, boy, don't you think it's time?" I can tell by the absent old command and that it's written in my own bold hand that I think I must be guilty of some existential crime. But aren't we all?

And in three days, they will build a brand new temple to the dollar and I know if I can't be there on the day the doors swing wide I will know I've missed salvation's clearance sale and destined, sure enough, to fail. We want to but we cannot stem the ocean tide. But can't we all?

I can tell just by my busted lip that time and all intentions slip into the black box, full abyss, that keeps us standing still. But if I had my faith and one more chance, I'd grab my family and dance and shout out loud these last few words from my worn windowsill. But can't we all?

credits

from Songs from the Spare Room, Vol. 1, released August 20, 2010
Justin Parson - all instruments and vocals

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Justin Parson Brookville, Pennsylvania

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