Brown hair in a birds nest,
A pile of teeth under a tree,
The frayed sleeves of a poorly tailored jacket.
Another wasted night,
Searching for life.
Digging up graves, 'cause I've got something to say to the dead and buried.
You know how my mind it drifts,
A small boat lost at sea.
Callowed and rutterless,
To say the least.
I swear, on my mothers gravy,
That I didn't lie to you.
I was only, as usual, confused.
It was wrong of me to curse your family's name, and your faith,
And an answering machine,
and I knew it didn't know how to use.
For how long must I lie awake,
For how many long nights shall I keep digging up graves.
Well, I swear on my mothers gravy,
That I didn't lie to you.
I just didn't tell the truth.
