After all these implements and text designed by intellects
 So vexed to find evidently there's just so much that hides
 And though the saints dub us divine in ancient fading lines
 Their sentiment is just as hard to pluck from the vine

 I'll try hard not to pretend
 Allow myself no mock defense
 As I step into the night

 Since I don't have the time nor mind to figure out
 The nursery rhymes that helped us out in making sense of our lives
 The [bad word] uneventful state of apathy releases me
 I value them but I won't cry every time one's wiped out

 I'll try hard not to give in
 Batten down to fare the wind
 Rid my head of this pretense
 Allow myself no mock defense
 As I step into the night...

 Mercy's eyes are blue
 When she places them in front of you
 Nothing holds a roman candle to
 The solemn warmth you feel inside

 There's no measuring of it
 As nothing else is love

 I'll try hard not to give in
 Batten down to fare the wind
 Rid my head of this pretense
 Allow myself no mock defense
 As I step into the night...

 Mercy's eyes are blue
 When she places them in front of you
 Nothing really holds a candle to
 The solemn warmth you feel inside of you