Burning In The Sky

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I use the dead wood to make the fi-re rise.
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The blood of in-o-cence burn-ing in the sk-i-es.
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I fill my cup with the ri-sing of the sea.
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And pour it out in an o-cean of deb-r-i-s.
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Oh, oh.

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I’m swim-ing in the smoke,
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of brid-ges I have burned.
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So don’t ap-o-lo-gi–z–e.
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I’m lo-sing what I don’t de-serve.
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What I don’t de-ser-ve.