Pockets

on the street where silent people walk
I'm a-gonna build a church and let the preaching know
that this is when my prayer could come to die
oh referencing my curses spread out on the ground

deep in the pockets of your suns
you could see why i have come
and by the presence of my eye
you could see why i took a lonely fly

and on the roof the silent pigeon walks
wondering if our bloody mess could make the sunset talk
tightening his wings across his chest
or diving to tomorrow where a nervous bird could rest

deep in the pockets of your suns
you could see why i have come
and by the absence of a cry
you could hear why he took a lonely fly deep on the bottom of a lake
you could watch me as i wake
to pray the surface is the sky
you could see why...

yes, in the depths where silent rivers blow
i'm a-gonna build a boat and let the customs know
that this is not a sail that will be hailed
oh watch me as i drift away, i don't want to be saved

deep in the pockets of your suns
you could see why i have come
to pray the surface is the sky
you could see why i took a lonely fly