Paroles Stained glass ceilings The Wonder Years

Stained glass ceilings

Like a burning monk
You're my light flare out in the dark
You're my constant call to arms
Took the blindfold off
They'd left chalk outlines where the future was
It's a goddamn war of attrition
It's a death by a thousand cuts
And if these motherfuckers made it to heaven
They'd burn the bridge when they got across

They're gathering anchors
They're gathering rope
You push into heaven all alone
They're grabbing your ankles
They won't let you go
The ebb and the distant flow
They're cutting your wings off
Built you ceilings out of stained glass

Well you cut like gravel in my skinned knee
The wound will close eventually
You'll stay as a reminder of how fucked this world can be
Held your funeral on a Tuesday
Holy waters, November cold
The kid who pulled the trigger
Knew too well, couldn't promise him hope

All these bastards are gathering rope
You push into heaven all alone
They're grabbing your ankles
They won't let you go
The ebb and the distant flow
They're cutting your wings off
Built your ceilings out of stained glass
They were cutting your wings off
I was staring at my idle hands
Maybe I could've done something
Maybe I could've made a difference

John Wayne with a God complex
Tells me to buy a gun
Like shooting a teenage kid is gonna solve any problems
Like it's an arms race
Like death don't mean nothing
To know the heavy price of living poor
Walled in by red lines, backed into a corner
Not knowing growing up what it's like to belong here in America

If everyone's built the same then how come building's so fucking hard for you?
It's something we're all born into
Enough is enough too gray
It's black or white and sometimes black and blue
It's something we're all born into, whoa-oh
Now I know what's in a name
Not just my father
Three-fifths a man makes half of me
Why should I bother?
Merchants of misery stacking the deck
Fucking John Wayne's fucking God complex
I have everything in front of me
But there is far enough
To touch those fever dreams
They call America
I am the ghetto's chosen one
The privileged bastard son

They're gathering anchors
They're gathering rope
You push into heaven all alone
They're gathering anchors
They're gathering rope
You push into heaven all alone
No, all alone