The Sun - Jukebox the Ghost

Everything under the sun

Is getting burned

Everything under the moon

Is gonna sleep

And I think that one day soon

It’s all gonna

Big bags of blood bore by inference, big bags of water

Sticks too tightly after

Seems likes packaging are hurtling through busy city streets

They’re running fast, but what are they running from?

Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news

But I’ve been all around, I’ve seen the globe from upside down

There’s no bearded man on a fiery throne

With angels blowing trumpets below and calling out his judgment sounds

If God exists in a place like this then

Where else could a god or goddess be if he or she is not trapped inside?

What if it’s all just a black abyss and lips that kiss you

When you’re sick or feeling just a little out of touch