Author Information
Every Saint Has a Past
I heard you found that ticking clock
Deep beneath the sand
I heard you trekked the desert's miles,
Beauty hand in hand
And I ripped the notebook's pages out,
Wept until the stars were doused
I gave the ink back to its pen
Unwrote us back where we began
I heard you found a brand new hand
To wipe the tears you cried
I heard you found a brilliant voice
To sing our lullabye
And I shredded every sentence there,
Told them it just wasn't fair
I made a little paper pile,
Wondered if I'd ever smile
I heard you smited our blue flame,
Never mourned my ghost
I heard you stood with your chin up
As your lungs filled with smoke
And I let the notebook's pages burn,
Turned to ash poor Hope's return
I watched the ink melt to the flame,
Pretended I was not to blame
I heard you found the grace of God
To cleanse your every sin
I heard you never needed me,
Nor us or who you've been
I heard you're sleeping soundly now
With no need for a song
I heard that you left us behind,
And heresay's never wrong
So the Reaper snatched his dice away,
Told Love she'd gambled her own fate
He clutched her throat and turned her pale,
Let her fall and watched her fail
