polished chrome,
crushed velvet moon,
no, nothing is your home.
and although the sun sets
heavy on the dreamer,
you can feed your pain
to the song
i often grieve with hendrix
i often turn to the king
in my suffering
a l o n e
ive always been a dancing man
to shelter the pain
whenever jimi's playing
oh my god,
no, nothing mom
my shelters getting better
all the time
and, i know that people gather
every sunday,
but i prefer the church
that ive made mine
ive made mine
made mine
im turning into a heartbeat
im singing in perfect tune
the wide worlds my room
roses in the window,
candles lining the floor
to my shelter door
m y s h e l t e r