Handshake through a wooden door I'm reading the same paper I'm blind to the cure They say I tried To hold the Christ from breaking through The little grasp of life That I seemed to have I'm crawling beneath my low-lying fog My low-lying fog To heal, heal Convinced you're the hunted, not the hunter You're the victim Never has anything been so absurd Your history does nothing but affect me A thousand times you've asked And now it's done Wild flowers don't deserve to feel the warmth That's deep inside of me I'm crawling beneath my low-lying fog My low-lying fog To heal, heal