What gives this mess some grace unless it's kicks, man
Unless it's fiction
Unless it's sweat or it's songs

What hits against this chest unless it's a sick man's hand
From some midlevel band
He's been driving too long

On a dark windless night
With the stereo on
With the towns flying by
And the ground getting soft

And the sound in the sky
Coming down from above
It surrounds you and sighs
And it's whispering, oh

What pulls your body down, that is quicksand
So, we climb out quick, hand over hand
For your mouth's all filled up

What picks you up from down unless it's tricks, man
When I been fixed, I am convinced that I will not get so broke up again

And on a seven day high
That heavenly song
Punches right through my mind
And pumps through my blood

And, oh, it's a lie
But I still give my love
And my heart's all alive
For your hands to pluck off

What gives this mess some grace unless it's fictions
Unless it's licks, man
Unless it's lies or it's love

What breaks this heart the most is the ghost of some rock and roll fan
Exploding up from the stands
With her heart opened up

And I want to tell her, "your love isn't lost"
Say, "my heart is still crossed"
Scream, "you're so wonderful"
What a dream in the dark

About working so hard
About growing so stoned
Trying not to turn up
Trying not to believe in the light, on your own

La la la la
Ohhh oh ohh