Singin' to you in the back of the van
I can't fix it all but I'll hold your hand
Until the headlights crack and we drive head first
For the graves in the yard of this New Jersey church
And the closest I've come to the feeling of knives
Is the pain that I feel from the thorns in your side
Because they poke right through your sweater
And rip the fabric that holds our illusions together
And the antidote for all the things
That tear us up from seam to seam
Is the space between our eyes
I never would have been here otherwise
And I suppose that with our broken wings
We'll have to learn to use our feet
And maybe we will find a reason for our lives
Well I guess we'll have to try, won't we?
Singin' to you in the back of my car
The lights flash red and the door's ajar
I could tell you the truth but the truth is much worse
