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