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When the snow melts and Boston thaws it will not matter how I felt,
And as the creature lifts its claws I can only hope that it finds my throat.
'Cause I can't see winning with an empty heart in lieu of fists
and I see no reason that I should be a part of this.
Our demons have destroyed this thing;
I am flying with Icarus wings.

Paralyzed at the end of the road we've nothing to say and nothing to show.
The carpet is stained and the blood is our own, and soon we'll set a direct course for the sun
And as we're burning up we'll see
flocks of birds just desperate to be free.
But year after year they find themselves enslaved,
so they count the years 'til they earn a grave.

Can we carry on?
Will we carry on?
Why should we carry on?
Who will know if we're gone?

But I can't watch you drown, my friend.
I won't let you slip away.
I won't let you down, my friend-
I will find a way.


from Sessions with Molly, released January 27, 2013
Written and performed by Chris Puzzo
with special thanks to Luke Shearman




Blood Like the Atlantic Boston, Massachusetts

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