Satan And St. Paul

Don’t tell me that you love me

I’ve got nothing left in turn

Except this empty bag of promises

And second degree burns

On the tips of my fingers

From touching certain fruit

That I never should have touched in the first place

Well the sky’s raining fire

But I think I’ll go to bed

Because there ain’t much you can do

When it burns down on your head

Except pray and beg for mercy

From this hell that you created

On the corner of Satan and St. Paul

And my cup it runneth over

And it runs down in my eyes

Maybe when I’m a little older

I won’t tell myself so many lies

Well it took me twenty years

Just to find myself a pen

For to write down all the words

Just to scratch them out again

I could use another twenty years

To fix the last fifteen

But it never seems to work to my advantage

Now I’m walking here on rusted nails

With broken wings and battered sails

I told you that I’m leaving

But I’m probably telling lies

If only I could make it out

To Denver, Colorado

I’d book it out of Satan and St. Paul