St. Petersburg (IV Fridays)

I want to live in

The element

I've spent my comfort

And common sense

Have not imagened lost innocence

I'll bleed you dry

No I won't pretend

I'll be coming home

But I don't know when

I've felt your fire

I've breathed your air

We turned and twisted

Our bruises bare

I cursed the ground still

I feel you everywhere

In a fickle world

There's no stubborn lung

I can feel your ghost

When will you give up

It's a funny thing I heard of once

The return of the prodigal son

The baby thrilled me

Made me feel love

Flashes of myrrh and flames of wood

I don't feel guilty

Maybe I should

In a fickle world

There's no stubborn lung

I can feel your ghost

When will you give up

It's a funny thing I heard of once

The return of the prodigal son

In a fickle world

There's no stubborn lung

I can feel your ghost

When will you give up

It's a funny thing I heard of once

The return of the prodigal son

I saw the painty St Petersberg

Repressed depiction of a return

I am the oil and pigment mixed

And I know nothing but I know this

I've been lost a long time in my head

I've followed all the signs but I was misled

I'll be coming home but I don't know when