Youth Group

Easy bake pilgrims yield to the wheel of hand-me-down, mid-size sedans They hit like communion - they pray like chimneys when the sun pulls up sheets While smoke signs drift silly secrets out of cracked windows to no one and everyone They're keeping their cool and making the rules as if they were someone Is this the promised land: this century old urine stain? Is this the year of jubilee: this bilge water age? O, lit pilgrims, leave these laments for the noisy ones who should have died young They used to chill and enjoy the drive back when they were someone With my own two hands, I'll cut it down I want to watch it burn With my own two hands, I'll make two fists I'm sick of empty words They were surprised when they touched His face and he needed a shave They wept when they kissed his mouth and His taste was Stone I.P.A. O, lit pilgrims, leave these laments for the noisy ones who should have died young They used to chill and enjoy the drive back when they were someone With my own two hands, I'll cut it down I want to watch it burn With my own two hands, I'll make two fists I'm sick of empty words With my own two hands, I'll cut it down I want to watch it burn With my own two hands, I'll make two fists I'm sick of empty words