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Bored hands in a hurry to stay.
Lord, I pray I’m not a self-addressed note
or a boat in a parking lot.
And I know that your fingers are tied up,
but what if I offered you sacred lands?
Do you think you could break your hands?
Height of hope like a mountain gone black.
Does he cast his love like a shadow
into the pedal’s very veins?
And if I gave all my life to the falling-out,
I’d tape up my mouth and tie my temples to the tracks.
So do you want control?
‘Cause I don’t need control.
Somebody save my soul.
So, tell your friends you had enough.
Tell those fools ya pulled away
while I pushed my luck.
Tied down and wired;
chewed my strings and threw my things into the truck.
Cold feet in a hurry to go.
Oh honey, I hope I’m not a self-addressed note
or a place for your bones to rot.
And I know that your fingers are tied up,
but what if I offered you sacred lands?
Do you think you could break your hands?