Unless It's Kicks

What gives this mess some grace Unless it kicks, man Unless it's fiction, unless it's sweat, or it's songs? What hits against this chest Unless it's a sick man's hand From some mid-level band? He's been driving too long On a dark windless night, with the stereo on With the towns flying by and the ground getting soft And a sound in the sky coming down from above It surrounds you and sighs and it's whispering of What pulls your body down, and that is quicksand So, climb out quickly, hand over hand 'Fore your mouth's all filled up What picks you up from down unless it's tricks, man? When I've been fixed, I am convinced that I will not get so broke up again And on a seven-day high, that heavenly song Punches right through my mind and just hums through my blood And I know it's a lie, but I'll still give my love Hey, my heart's on the line for your hands to pluck off, oh What gives this mess some grace, unless it's fiction Unless it licks, man, unless it's lies, or it's love? What breaks this heart the most is the ghost of some rock and roll fan Floating up from the stands with her heart opened up I wanna tell her, "Your love isn't lost" Say "My heart is still crossed" Scream, "You're so wonderful" What a dream in the dark about working so hard, about growing so stoned Trying not to turn off Trying not to believe in that lie all on your own No, no, no, no Oh, oh, oh, oh