Massive Illusion

St. John got gunned down with a cold ‘38

Why don't we pin him to the sky

The rarest of the specimens are neatly locked away

It's all in my collection

It's all in my collection

You know that bird has flown

Can you forgive?

A bird you'll never own

And your love is a graveyard where the grasses grow low

And the people that lie here knew just what you know

Now your shovel's a shot glass and you drink your own toast

You're living your life as a ghost, a ghost, a ghost

See your love is a playground where the grasses grow low

All the people that play here reap just what they sow

And if your shovel is a shot glass and you drink your own toast

You're living your life as a ghost, a ghost, a ghost

When your will is gone and dreams will erase

When you're hanging on by your fingernails

When your will is gone and dreams will erase

While you're hanging on by your fingernails

Bring out your finest wines your holy shrines and let them go

Freed from the chains of what has remained of a life that you don't want to know

The bass and the drums will hammer it home with their marching band of the proud

Celebrate ages, all life stages, seas and the winds and the clouds

The message's been written from your prison, see what tomorrow will be

See what tomorrow will be

See what tomorrow will be

Got every reason to believe that all must decide to break free

Was it a tantrum when you said that all the laughs were on me

Then I'll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in

Then I'll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in

Go marching in