Too Many Husbands

from Everything Borrowed by The Pilot's Archive

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lyrics

We play musical chairs without the noise and sing ourselves to sleep with no voice
I am weary of the cunning and no stranger to the cold
I ask for no holy confession in exchange for my own soul

Every father of my father
With bruised and broken hands
I'll take comfort in not knowing what it means to be a man
I rest my eyes on sinking ships
And throw my heart into the sand
Eventually that well runs dry and I'm the only one to blame
Breathe easy in the floods, and put the devil on my back
Dear fathers of my father, I hope I gain what you have lacked
My failures trump the triumph
I don't think you understand
It takes a man to own up to having no clue what makes a man

And this dire word has spread upon me
Through the blood in my veins
From the glass that you taste
Carry burdens down to every grave
We won't see the light of day
No light for our way

Stumbling over myself constantly to pick the pieces up
I could blame the rain for my troubles but you know it would never own up And I confess that I'm a mess, I've probably wasted all my worth
But for what it's worth I would chop down my family tree to build a home From what it looks like to me, there's a hell of a lot of trees
But only one can smell my fear and make me look the other way
From what it looks like to me, I've got a lot to lay to waste
My sharpened teeth will surely break before I save my grace

And this dire word has spread upon me
Through the blood in my veins
From the glass that you taste
Carry burdens down to every grave
We won't see the light of day
No light for our way

Head full of blind eyes always leading me astray
A dialect made out of ash is the only way we speak.

credits

from Everything Borrowed, released August 2, 2014

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about

The Pilot's Archive Manchester, Tennessee

We're a hardcore/alternative band from the grit of Manchester, TN, USA. Live shows fueled by passion, music fueled by pure honesty. For fans of Norma Jean, Glassjaw, La Dispute, and Every Time I Die.

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