Crisis in the Slow Lane

I still have your painting, it's set on my wall.
And is the man behind you, screaming come on home.
Will you, come. Home.
And If I only hurt you.
Why's it in the winter, cold with me for company.
For I am just a black cloud.
Don't you know your god will let you down and you still ask why;
We all say, we are tired of feeling low.
We are tired of being alone, destroy a head but not your own;
And if we make it, to see morning coffee.
Then I swear you'll find an answer, yeah I swear you'll find an answer.
I can see your father, painted in the sky.
No there was not an artist, not even a last goodbye.
So he longs to hear the words that'll make you feel, much better still but what's better is, the cross that you lay upon says "I knew your god would let you down."
We all say, we are tired of feeling low.
We are tired of being alone, destroy a head but not your own.
And if we make it, to see morning coffee.
Then I swear you'll find an answer, yeah I swear you'll find an answer.
We'll find hope.
There is a crisis in the slow lane, are you figuring life out.
You will miss the point in question where you are. Where you are.
We all say, we are tired of feeling low.
We are tired of being alone, destroy a head but not your own.
We all say, we are tired of feeling low.
We are tired of being alone, destroy a head but not your own.
And if we make it, to see morning coffee.
Then I swear you'll find an answer, yeah I swear you'll find an answer.