Out of Range

Hide in a stork's mouth

Sleep 'til it's dark out

All dressed up holding your receipts for the numbers that you picked

You in a box full of your mistakes and a leaden crucifix

If hearts were all made like they were balls of yarn

Well they've all got the strings that get tugged on your heart

Some are different lengths

Some would be stronger than others

And some would be the colors of your mothers and fathers

Do old structures stand

The same as any older man

A place where something used to live

But in the end just turns cold

Am I a torn up, tattered, worn out piece of fabric

Not suitable to stitch up a rip

'Cause I'd like to be tightly braided

Gold and silver bracelets

The type you'd like to wear round your wrist

As we lay

We start to pray

And in the places you go

You'll find these people you know

All sewing patterns into clothing that you've called your own

And in these smaller designs

There's something larger you might find

That people's hands have worked together to make up the parts of you.