God rest his head Sunday afternoon

The wicked in me is surely the wicked in you
We pray to a ghost that we've never met

Time turns for a cure, from the scientists for

This madness, madness of the heart

But you knew it, we knew it from the start

And Hawking will tell us no tall tales this spring

Our minds hold the chaos that started everything

And maybe it's fate, as the sadness takes hold

Still stars through a window, will they ever know this

Madness, madness of the heart

We knew it, we knew it from the start
This madness, madness of the heart
But you knew it, you knew it from the start

Stare a sleepy smile into a sunbeam
Is this nothing more than a daydream

Color stained glass cathedral
Confess a past that won't let you go
God rest your head Sunday afternoon

The wicked in me is surely coming through

I pray to a ghost that I've never met

Still searching for some way out of this mess

It's the heart

It's the heart
There's a madness, a madness in the stars
But you knew it, we knew it from the start