is not something that I grasp. it's somethign that I fake,
as I'm slipping, as I'm falling through the cracks.
faith,
without action is a mask, for making same mistakes
as I'm slipping, as I'm falling through the cracks.
but somehow I find beauty in our failings,
somehow I find meaning in this life,
somehowI made perfect in this fracture,
your back is begging sweetly for my knives.
I'm spilling blood. glancing down to hide my face.
i walk with eyes closed tight through monuments of grace.
my faith is a front, i'm spilling blood.
isn't it sweet how i'm trusted with angels and how quickly i break my promises.
isn't it sweet?
