Destination - The Church
Written by:Kilbey/The Church
Our instruments have no way of measuring this feeling
Can never cut below the floor or penetrate the ceiling
In the space between our houses some bones have been discovered
But our procession lurches on as if we had recovered
Draconian winter unforetold
One solar day suddenly you're old
Your little envelope just makes me cold
Makes destination start to unfold
Our documents are useless or forged beyond believing
Page forty seven is unsigned I need it by this evening
In the space between our cities a storm is slowly forming
Something eating up our days I feel it every morning
Destination destination
Destination destination
Destination destination
It's not a religion it's just a technique
It's just a way of making you speak
Distance and speed have left us too weak
And destination looks kind of bleak
Our elements are burned out our beasts have been mistreated
I tell you it's the only way we'll get this road completed
In the space between our bodies the air has grown small fingers
Just one caress you're powerless like all those clapped out swingers
Destination destination
Destination destination
Destination destination
Destination
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