St. Christopher

I keep a picture in the bible on the nightstand by my bed, Right beside the place she used to lie before she left, The picture marks the passage of the last words Jesus said, Before he lay to rest his head. I keep her letters in a box beneath my bed marked "Odds and Ends," Letters that I tried to write but never tried to send, Some pictures and a dried out rose remind me of the end, Oh lord, I prayed I see her face again. And I say "oh, Saint Christopher, keep my baby please." "Oh, Saint Christopher, bring my baby home to me." She kept her medicine inside a bin, an apple orchard crate, Filled with pills and whiskey that she used to ease her pain, And I've searched every bottle trying to find out why she stayed, Oh, lord I cant make sense of all this pain. So I say "Oh, Saint Christopher, keep my baby please." "Oh, Saint Christopher, bring my baby home to me." Now I guess life goes on without her I ain't bitter Im just cold, And I can't feel a thing no more, guess I'm just getting old, But theres no changing history, No mystery remains, I'm just sad she had to share my name. I'm just sad she had to share my name.