astoryforsupper:

In the morning when you finally go,
And the nurse runs in with her head hung low,
And the cardinal hits the window.
In the morning in the winter shade,
on the first of March on the holiday,
I thought I saw you breathing.
Oh, the glory that the lord has made
and the complications when I see his face
in the morning in the window.
Oh, the glory when he took our place,
but he took my shoulders and he shook my face,
and he takes and he takes and he takes…