Lagwagon

He wants to be the one who doesn't have to sink a level
Indiscrete, in his retreat
All he needs is just a taste of the bitter pride
He held in her name
Embrace the solitude of ordinary fucked up state of grace
Far away from the days he bared the cross she used to wear
In some resolve well aware
A little pitiful, a pin up boy they dress in grieving wear
Well at ease in consent in the drift of undertow
He won't justify the pity from them
When he knows....fools in love are arrogant
Their sermons cloud his breathing air