We were pulling roses from the thorns
Stayed wrapped up for hours
Turned our backs together to the storm
Because this hurts more than I told you
And it's Sunday so I'll hide the rituals
I want to be the patron saint of everything you tried to hide away
I swear I'll save you from the things at night that break your spine
At least I'll try
Living in glass houses waiting for myself to come around
Blooming for these strangers, better off just staring at the ground
Because I hurt more than I show you
And it's Sunday so I'll hide the rituals
Father, father bandage your feet
I know they're aching from the strength that you deny
I swear I saw you crawling toward the sun on the concrete
Pocket change to tell a lie
If this was all that I was meant for
Indigo Child