Stained Glass Ceilings

Like a burning monk

My light flared 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 burned the bridge when they got across

They're getting their 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 your ceilings out of stained-glass

Well, you're caught 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 water's November-cold

The kid that pulled the trigger

Knew tomorrow 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 (whoa, oh-oh-oh)

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

But nothing's left up to 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's

Three fifths a man makes half of me

Why should I bother?

Merchants of misery stacking the deck

Fuck your John Wayne

Fuck your God complex

I've got everything in front of me

But can't reach far enough to touch those fever dreams

They call American, 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 getting their anchors, they're gathering rope

You push into heaven all alone, no, all alone