(instrumental)

Sunlight, don't keep me waiting. I don't wanna be cold. I need you to show me your brightness. I need some sympathy. I'ts been so long since I've seen you. I know God will let you shine. Sunlight, I've just been so lonely. I need some sympathy. Jesus, sometimes I just feel like I am waiting to pass away. I wonder, "When will it happen?" I need some sympathy.

Trees and trees, with roots beneath, they're growing leaves from dying branches. They tower over you and me. They say "good morning" to the masses. Watch them sway to eerie music. They're flutes, and played by wind that blows them. They just live. They do not choose it. The leaves all change and fall so slowly. Make your way to sleep, and let the harps play slow. It's a dream. It's only a dream. Grass has grown over the graves, reminding us that life still goes on. Nights turn themselves into days. It's just the Earth moving in circles.

I drink your water. I drink it everyday. I drink your water. I drink your milkshake. (Drainage!) You are a false prophet. I want you to scream it. Meeting now as old friends, liquor and a bowling pin. (Drainage!)

The wind and the sea obey the words they hear Him say. The people call His Name, and not one is turned away. What manner of man is this, who sleeps during the time that we fear for our lives? The hour has come for me. What will it take to buy my loyalty, my friends, my smile? What will I need to change to hang myself for all of my ways? I'll betray Him with kiss. I'll lead the soldiers in, through the garden, straight to Him. What has become of me?

(Bending and breaking, we're) Nobody knows just why we do all the things we often do. The convict and the preacher die. Nobody makes it out alive. The poet and reporter write about the daytime and the night. So here's a toast to the human race that's flying circles all through space. You gotta go home, and you may only go alone. So live your life in love and peace, and rest your head in silent ease. The stories of our lives are told until the tellers get too old. Stories pass on about them, and then more stories from their kids. We wrestle angels in our dreams and slaughter giants with out slings. Our glory shows in severed heads, but in the end, no glory's left. It is all death and decay. The crime is done, and no one's blamed. So go to sleep. It's all alright. Wrestle angels for the night. So raise a glass to life and death. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy the rest. Enjoy the moon. Enjoy the sun. Enjoy everything and everyone. Leave a record for the kids to tell them all the things we did. Tell them what they won't even hear. Our mark won't be made, I often fear. So here's a toast to the human race, to all the souls who leave this place. Here's a song sung for the dead and to the grave that we all head. So this is the portrait of a life. This is the struggle of being alive. These are my words to falling friends: Prepare yourself. This is the end. It's all over. It's all done. We're all over. We're all done. We're all bending and breaking. We're all broken. We need fixing.