Where Art Thou?

from by Ant Coughlin

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lyrics

(IT WILL BE MY HEART, THAT WILL PROTECT YOU FROM THE COLD)

I hear my boy crying’ and my mind’s reeling’
to 84’--I’m soaked in pain and sucking wind
I was cut out of protection to cold world with nothing to really hold
but hope in assumption that you’d be around
I’m surrounded by malfunction and billows of bad dreams
I’m left with me to keep from drowning
I backstroke through those first waves, like 1st grade
those first fights and them first phases of bad days
But who’ll protect from those demons in my bedroom
or teach me how to go to my Creator when I go to pray?
I mean I see you every now and then, but now and then
you come around, sit down, pretend to promise but you never stay
and now that’s what I think honesty--a bad charade
I am ferocity contained but what I never say.
And if the prophecies of ghettos see fruition
I’ll be a progeny fighting the wind within the fray, but
while in suspension and that pending it began to rain.
I felt December melt away and turn to summer days,
and paint the burden of my rage to absolution
and blend cacophonies into melodious displays of
benevolence for enmity and lift the weight of
an ill dependency on anything that’d make the pain numb
I breath now, seeing you beneath the Slain Son
I breath now, seeing you through what His Pain’s done

(IT WILL BE MY HEART, THAT WILL PROTECT YOU FROM THE COLD)

I know we never really ask for this--
missing heroes and collateral damages
we look for answers but he’s away on sabbatical
somebody let Ms. Hannigan loose and that’s problematical
Follow the leader? Who? If it’s you, then I’ll holler ATTICA!
I need answers. I’m out of em’
I don’t know how to love without thinking 'bout physicality
(the) sacred becomes casual
apathy feigns actual rage until I fade away
into a cloud of dust, in Hell’s serenades cuz I’ve been outta luck
without a hand to guide my everyday
self-destruct inside my citadel while I palm grenades
But wait. . .through my haze I see this Man disgraced
abandoned to emancipate and land the Coup de grâce
to decadence and all that pain that makes for heavy weight
He turns the fatherless to sons and daughters following
the Father while they hollow Him and wonder at His love and grace
(wonder at His love and grace)

credits

from Light Rooms / Dark Halls, released July 22, 2014
Prod. Wes Pendleton

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Ant Coughlin Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

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