Slow Train

You tried to stop the bleeding, taped a gun against your head:
It left you feeling like a medium between the living and the dead
Your face is lit by high beams, as cars pass along the road
There’s a bed beneath your eyelids where a river used to flow

Some days you’re like a martyr; some days you just get stoned
Forget the things you wanted; you’re here for what you owed
Some days you feel like Abel; some days you feel like Cain
Reclining at your table while your brother cries in pain

And when you die, you don’t know
Where the hell you will go
The train’s coming so slow
I know, I know

On some scroll, we found your letters to some god whose name we couldn’t write
Laid some leaves on down its centre, sealed it up, and rolled it tight
Lit it up behind the temple, and in the warm glow of its light
I swear my darling’s eyes resembled dark cathedrals in the night

Some days I feel like Jacob; some days I feel like Job:
Broken pottery for scraping, limps from wrestling with the Lord
Some days I pray to Jesus; some days I don’t pray for shit
Though I fumble with the pieces, some days they almost seem to fit

And when I die, I don’t know
Where the hell I will go
The train’s coming so slow
You know. You know