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Gregory Alan Isakov
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Saint Valentine
Well Grace she is gone she's a half written poem
She went out for cigarettes and never came home
And I swallowed the sun and screamed and wailed
Straight down to the dirt so I could find her trail
Spread out across the great divine
Well I just came to talk Saint Valentine
I never pictured you living here
With the rats and the vines
Ain't that my own heart
Hanging out on your line?
Are you all fucked up?
Saint Valentine
Now I circle the bars on the promenade
While the girls in the glass they're just throwing me shades
And I'm saving my coins up for Jingle and Jane
While she's out plucking strings in the pouring pouring
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She's out plucking strings in the pouring rain
See I'm all crooked feet Saint Valentine
I've circled this map till it caught on fire
Now Grace she has left she's just skin and bones
Well you hang up your hat
But you can't call it home
Well you've tried and you've tried
But you can't call it home
You're the loneliest one Saint Valentine
You're the loneliest one Saint Valentine
Are you all fucked up?
Saint Valentine
Ahh....Ahhh.....
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