St. Petersburg (IV Fridays)

I want to live in the elements
I've spurred my comfort, and common sense
I've no imagined lost innocence
I'll bleed you dry no i won't pretend
I'll be coming home but i don't know when

I felt your fire
I breathed your air
We turned and twisted, our bruises bare
I curse the ground still, I feel you everywhere

In a fickle world there's no stubborn love
I can feel your ghost, when will you give up
It's a funny thing I heard of once
The return of the prodigal son

Oh baby thrill me
Make me feel good
Flashes of neon, in flames of wood
I can't feel beauty, maybe i should

In a fickle world there's no stubborn love
I can feel your ghost, when will you give up
It's a funny thing I heard of once
The return of the prodigal son

In a fickle world there's no stubborn love
I can feel your ghost, when will you give up
It's a funny thing I heard of once
The return of the prodigal son

I saw the painting, St. Petersburg
Rembrandt's depiction, of a return
I am the oil, and pigments mixed
And I know nothing, but i know this
I've been lost a long time in my head
I followed all the signs but I was misled
I'll be coming home but i don't know when