I'm digging up the bones of the failures I've buried.
I'm pulling down my white flags
In varying stages of sun-bleached and grey.
I'm gonna sew them all together.
I'm gonna fashion the bones into a frame.
Tie the flags on with string.
Stretched across until they're wings.
I'm no closer to Heaven.

I clipped a bird with my car on the freeway.
He won't see a burial and all week long I kept thinking of death,
How me and Hemingway share forehead scars.
I won't meet the same fate that he did.
In a world that I can't fix,
With a hammer in my grip,
I'm no closer to Heaven.

It feels like the day before something important.
It feels like the first snow of the season that sticks.
It's how I'll always feel like a failure
In the back of my head
No matter where I've been.

The future feels bright
Like the glow of a city
Out across the Great Plains,
Where the closer I get, the further I feel away.
I could stay here in the darkness.
Feels like I'm wandering in circles for days.
I may never reach the gates.
I'll keep walking anyway.
I'm no closer to Heaven.