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well, Grace she’s gone, she’s a half-written poem she went out for cigarettes and never came home and I swallowed the sun and screamed and wailed straight down to the dirt so I could find her trail spread out across the Great Divide well, I just came to talk, Saint Valentine I never pictured you living here with the rats and the vines ain’t that my old heart hanging out on your lines you’re all fucked up, Saint Valentine now I circle the bars on the promenade while the girls in the glass, they’re just throwing me shade and I’m saving my coins up for Jingling Jane she’s out plucking strings in the pouring rain see I’m all crooked feet, Saint Valentine I’ve circled this map till it caught on fire now Grace she’s left you just skin and bone well, you hang up your hat, but you can’t call it home you’ve tried and you’ve tried, but you can’t call it home you’re the loneliest one, Saint Valentine you’re the loneliest one, Saint Valentine you’re all fucked up, Saint Valentine From Letras Mania