What a Time To Be Alive

A life spent in lonely churches,

Moving towns to where the work is,

Rustling coats in worn halls,

Routines passed on from dead souls,

Industrial skylines and work clothes,

Cities lost without a purpose,

An extra jumper, when the weather turns,

When your body gives you diminishing returns,

And if this is god’s plan

Take the sand from my shaking hands,

And if this is what we got,

Well I’m pretty sure he’s drinking on the job