Saint With A Fever - Patrick Park

You cast off the chains that tied and bound

You’re sick of their talk and won’t carry their crowns

You hollowed the space where they darkened the ground

With weary precision you lowered 'em down

Oh preacher, believer

Saint with a fever

You timid only son

You better wipe that dust from the tip of your tongue

And sing what ain’t been sung

Cause I’ve seen better days and I’ve seen the end

I saw a grown man break

I saw a changed man mend

And I’ve been in deep

Way over my head

I heard the virgin weep

While the savior bled

Oh preacher, believer

Saint with a fever

You timid only son

You better wipe that dust from the tip of your tongue

And sing what ain’t been sung

I cast off the chains that tied and bound

I’m sick of their talk, I won’t carry their crowns

A hollowed space where they darkened the ground

With weary precision I lowered 'em down