I’m not sure when it is you’re coming home
Telephones tease the ears with lovers' words
There’s no evade, escape
Pursue the very thing He’s called you to

I’m a mess, sad to see and speaking less
I don’t need a friendly face to pity me
What’s sick to hear and worse to spell?
Comparison with this to hell

The Atlantic can’t swallow that space enough
Or throw it’s waves hard enough
Some have written books on it
But I have spat into the expanse

I have written you letters telling what I do
With all the time that I have spent at home or in lonely rooms
All thoughts sound the same
When foreign faces learn your name
Some might have forgotten it
A fault deprived of consequence

Lyrics submitted by vetursjor

The Continents it Divides song meanings
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