I want to live in the element I've spent my comfort and common sense Have not imagened lost innocence I'll bleed you dry, no I won't pretend I'll be coming home but I don't know when I've felt your fire, I've breathed your air We turned and twisted, our bruises bare I cursed the ground still I feel you everywhere In a fickle world, there's no stubborn lung I can feel your ghost, when will you give up? It's a funny thing I heard of once The return of the prodigal son The baby thrilled me, made me feel love Flashes of myrrh and flames of wood I don't feel guilty, maybe I should In a fickle world, there's no stubborn lung I can feel your ghost, when will you give up? It's a funny thing I heard of once: The return of the prodigal son In a fickle world, there's no stubborn lung I can feel your ghost, when will you give up? It's a funny thing I heard of once The return of the prodigal son I saw the painty St. Petersberg Repressed depiction of a return I am the oil and pigment mixed And I know nothing but I know this: I've been lost a long time in my head I've followed all the signs but I was misled I'll be coming home but I don't know when