gather round these scattered stones
and spell your name out loud
i am ill at ease and incomplete
i'm buckled to this crowd
won't you spell for me, spell for me
you're the god of all the good stuff
but you're always so unkind
there's a marathon of seasons in the
forget about your treasons wonder
with a hundred thousand reasons
lay out on these stepping stones
don't tell us who'll be lost
all your prophecies are empty
'cause we all need help across
take my hand, take my hand
you're the god of the good looking
but you never do what's right
there's a marathon of seasons in the
forget about your treasons wonder
with a hundred thousand reasons
gather up these sticks and stones
and tell me what's my name
i've no need for all your poetry
'cause i'll write my own someday
you say we'll find our temple in the mist
i hope god has got some answers
'cause i can't take much more of this
there's a marathon of seasons in the
forget about your treasons wonder
with a hundred thousand reasons
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