Last night we slept caught in the low glare of a television screen, and beneath the snowy static was my vivid fever dream. The dialogue was faulty in that cold, flickering light. Oh sweet tragedy, end here tonight!

I woke up in a church, beneath an old and rugged cross, there are demons here to beat I swear that all my faith is lost. No one here can hear me but it only feels right when I sing, so I sing with each chord my heartbreak brings.

But each verse is trite, and try as I might, I could never quite complete this parody. I don't think I fit in, or where this story should begin, and I'm tired and I'm angry and I'm wondering if you think you'd let me in.

So as we slept caught in the low glare of that television screen, I dreamed of all my losses, I'm afraid of what might be. My Father had an angry hand my Mother didn't see. The son of John, a storm is gathering over me.

Oh me, oh my, oh woe is me! My life is filled with grief, such immeasurable misery! Throw out all those tired cliches boy, as sure as shit you'll see. They'll give you all the money, now the prize is yours you'll see...

So pour me one last cup, kid I just give up and I feel the Earth's slow pull of gravity. We'll go our separate ways, I'll be back some day. Let your compass navigate you back to me.