We are keeping you in our chests tonight
with apple wine and candle light,
furrowed brows and salty eyes.

And in the time it takes this bread to rise,
I'll have breathed six thousand times.
A breath for each star in the sky
that has breathed you in since you have died.

Shame on the parson.
Shame on the preacher in Maine.
Shame on the ones you did deny.
And maybe if I sleep
with my head in the moonlight tonight,
the glow will gift me the words to describe
what we lost when you died.

You blessed my eyes so that I might see
what comes after honesty.
And you're like electricity.
Sometimes you're just blue light to me.
And I felt you coursing endlessly
from bell-tower to foaming sea.
So it's a question of mortality.
Are you really gone just cause we can't see?

Remember the sailor.
Remember the breaking waves.
Remember the thoughts that did unite.
And maybe if I sleep
with my head in the moonlight tonight
the glow will gift me the words to describe
what we lost when you died.

Gemini tonight, I call on your second sight.
Gemini tonight, I call on your second sight
'til morning's quiet grace will fill my sails
and bring me home
and bring me home.

But your home is in darkness.
Your home is in darkness.
Can we ever be together if darkness is your home?
Esther was a storyteller
and darkness was her home.
Can you please forgive her?
Please do not weep for her
for she loves a specter
and darkness was his home.

Can we ever be together if darkness is his home?
Can we ever be together if darkness is his home?
Can we ever be together if darkness is his home?
Can we ever be together if darkness is your home?