Quiet The Longing

You sit, and you stir.

You grieve and you grieve.

The same chair as your old man, your mother's worse than you think.

Sunken eyes and a withering frame, the needle quiets the longing.

That poison it fills her veins.

So quiet when the pain comes.

Your mother's rosary ain't bringing father home.

Blood rushes with cigarette burns.

There ain't no God coming to save her.

So quiet as the clouds roll.

Your mother's rosary wrapped on the bed post.

Blood rushes with cigarette burns.

Sit on that dock every night until your head hurts.

You sit, and you stir.

You grieve and you grieve.

The longer you sit at the ocean you lose more time than you think.

Your blood runs cold, wind biting under your coat.

Pull it tight to your chest.

Your mother is praying for death much more than you know.

So quiet when the pain comes.

Your mother's rosary ain't bringing father home.

Blood rushes with cigarette burns.

There ain't no God coming to save her.

So quiet as the clouds roll.

Your mother's rosary wrapped on the bed post.

Blood rushes with cigarette burns.

Sit on that dock every night until your head hurts.

"You coward, this is your fault. Our family has lost everything."

Look down at your hands and your lit cigarette.

Put it to your lips and breathe it in.

Everything starts to fade and your body is numb.

And when you wake in the morning you're in the house all alone.