Watch your friend baptize her daughter in the river, and talk amongst themselves of what was lost in the flood. You're sitting barefoot on the porch of your parent's ruined doorstep. Rag up to your nose holding back the blood. Eight years away to come home to this. Getting smashed up in the basement. In the silence there you thought you might have lost your chance at heaven. But if everyone's gone in rapture, would you want to get better? Had dreams of living in New York like one of the skinny ones, but you pawned a few of them off and met a man out west. Now your pale skin catches fire no matter how deep you feel buried. And that hatred in the mirror you can't express. Now there are wrinkles on your forehead and the city is too expensive. You hear everyone laughing like you're still that awkward kid. If everyone's gone in rapture, why don't you want to get better? Your heart will never be full, so don't waste your grief on fools. The pain is everywhere if you go looking. The pain is everywhere saying "come find me." The pain is everywhere, so why are you searching? The pain is everywhere. And everyone's gone in rapture, but you didn't want to get better.