Sometimes, for a moment of bliss
And the passion, we're craving
There's a message we miss

Sometimes when the spirits left alone
We must believe in something
To find if we've grown


Tragic reflex, shattered calm
Static progress, senses gone

Numb awareness, final psalm

Swept away with the tide

Through the holes in my hands
Crown of thorns
At my side drawing lines in the sand


Sometimes, if you're perfectly still
You can hear the virgin weeping

For the savior of your will
Sometimes, your castles in the air
And the fantasies you're seeking


Are the crosses you bear


Sacred conflict, blessed prize
Weeping crosses, stainless eyes
Desperate addict, faith disguised


Swept away with the tide
Through the holes in my hands

Crown of thorns
At my side drawing lines in the sand


We fabricate our demons
Invite them into our homes
Have supper with the aliens

And fight the war alone
We conjure up our skeletons
Enlist the den of theives

Frightened from our closets
Then sewn upon our sleeves


In the stream of consciousness
There is a river crying
Living comes much easier


Once we admit
We're dying


Sometimes, in the wreckage of our wake
There's a bitterness we harbor

And hate for hatred's sake
Sometime we dig an early grave
And crucify our instincts

For the hope we couldn't save

Sometimes a view from sinless eyes

Centers our perspective
And pacifies our cries
Sometimes the anguish we survive

And the mysteries we nurture
Are the fabrics of our lives


Swept away with the tide
Through the holes in my hands
Crown of thorns

At my side drawing lines in the sand