Dirt Poor Robins The Saints I
Each day you wake up with an aching
For something to set you apart
Strip the scales from your heart
(It never comes, it never comes)
A hostage tied up by its nature
That can't help unsheathing its claws
A beast with desires of a god
(You won't become, you won't become)
From an unlikely place redemption has come
From an once-abstract space of zeroes and ones
In full resolution your absolution
Oh when, oh when the saints go marching in
I want to be in their numbers
When their, oh when their light begins to shine
We will awake from this slumber
[interlude]
They were born with the strength of a mountain
With the modest intent of a dove
An end to the shedding of blood
(It won't be long, it won't be long)
We sculpted their minds to perfection
The zenith design of our age
The saint is also a sage
(They're never wrong, They're never wrong)
From the work of our hands salvation is here
A new constellation through coding appears
A sign, a solution, a revolution
Oh when, oh when the saints go marching in
I want to be in their numbers
When their, oh when their light begins to shine
We will awake from this slumber
No more guessing and questioning
No more endlessly wrestling
No more doubt
You're not missing out
No more meaningless wandering
No more undeserved suffering
You're enough
You will measure up
When the saints go marching in
I want to be in their numbers
When their light begins to shine
We will awake from this slumber
