i have a bookcase built by my mother's father
my daddy's daddy has a book that now sits upon it
in the pages there's a nazarene, cut out of a magazine
he is a statue standing high over a little town
staring down with his arms stretched out
and the boys with their nylon sheets
jump from his head down into the streets

i know i don't really understand these things sometimes
but I know that everything is gonna fall in line

maybe boats don't feel like the ocean
and solid ground is unceasing motion
underwater I'm umbilically purposed
the salt won't burn my eyes 'til the surface
there's a cloud like a boxer on his back
there's a cloud like an encounter in a laundromat
there's a cloud that says i'm meant for this
i was meant to always dig this ditch

i know i don't really understand these things sometimes
but i know that everything is gonna fall in line

what's it mean when i'm encouraged by the gates of hell?

i'm done with passive aggression
no more are questions suggestions