Folded Hands

I'm not a praying man, but I've got folded hands and a church pew. I wanna believe in you. I've said all those words, still I don't have enough nerve to come and visit your grave. I'm not brave. Home doesn't feel like home. I walk through the door and every single thing has changed. Nothing feels the same. I look at the couch where you use to sit and sit so empty now, but I know you're proud. I will drop my pride, I'll visit you when the time feels right. When the time feels right. I'll bring flowers and a shirt. Six feet under the ground and you're still the best part of this earth. It hurts.