Mourning Dove from Hymnal by Hymnal

Unabashedly wrapped in your plastic rapture,
We sang holy and hung our lungs from the rafters.
Swing low like rusted wind chimes,
Echo our hymns, lament the passing of time.
And you danced through that bastard light.
You were a church dream, red and white.
And I was in the fields waiting on that flock to come home.

Got a bird in my hand, but it ain't quite dead yet.
You know that sound, it still haunts, the way you rang out its neck.
Bells sounding in blood, a calm still in its eye.
A mangled corpse, the bones will mix with rye.
I am that blue ring circling around a black depth.
Learned being a man means dealing with death.
It started to close, so I wept and washed the blood from my clothes.

I don't have a good side, just one that I don't want you to see.
Although that dove flies, we both know it won't ever be free.
Never had to wonder exactly how you felt about me
When I'm killing birds out of jealousy.

Learned how to be a man in West Texas high grain.
Learned life leaves us slowly with no use for a name.

• Country
• Southern gloom
• Texas Blues
• ambient
• folk
• Boston