What We've Been Saying

I can see a savage kind of grace,
in the forests of your face,
and I can see that there’s a story to tell,
part heaven, part hell.
She said that she’d lived most of her life,
buried inside a knife,
driven deep down in the dirt,
driven deep down by the curse.
And I’m not sure what we’ve been saying,
but I’m pretty sure that we’ve been praying.
The city cut off the water supply,
and every single pipe in the city went dry,
the people gathered out in the street,
the people gathered to seek relief,
from the thirst deep down in their bones,
from the thirst that they called home.
And I’m not sure what we’ve been saying,
but I’m pretty sure that we’ve been praying.
They put a blanket on a bed,
to cover the desert in the head,
of a man he lay there, he could not talk,
a man he lay there, he could not walk.
And I’m not sure what we’ve been saying,
but I’m pretty sure that we’ve been praying.
And I’m not sure what we’ve been saying,
but I’m pretty sure that we’ve been praying.
And I’m not sure what we’ve been saying,
but I’m pretty sure that we’ve been praying.