We are the Saints

These days of wandering

Blood blindfold armory

I want to hold you close

Oh, comfort me

We’ll glide down these crowded streets

And see the kids who plead

For something to love

If this is all there is

Hashtags and genesis

And heads of state all made from

Papier mâché

We’re washing the eyelids

Of our kin

It’s mourning in America

I keep dreaming that I'm climbing up a dusty road

To the top of a cold clear mountain

Guided by a voice on the radio, it says

Your feet are the future, so keep on walking

Toward the little piles of broken stones

Broken stones

When silent spring began

It seemed God had a plan

To strip the scales from the eyes of the shiftless

The shirt-sleeved, the sun-dressed

The new baptized witnesses

But watch how the emperor

Feeds his prey to keep the truth at bay

And now we’re fighting over scraps again

We are the Saints

We are the Saints

We are the Saints

We are

But in that dream I see a circle of light and hope

And strangers looking deep in the eyes

Of someone they thought they didn’t know, they say

Your feet are the future, so keep on walking

Toward the little piles of broken stones

These days of wandering

Blood blindfold armory

I want to hold you close

Oh, comfort me

We'll glide down

These empty streets

And see the blue and green

After the flood