Our savior's fallen ill, and he won't get up. We've cast away our stones. Why won't he get up? So unawake with you, you let me drive your car. You let me break your heart and still not want to give up. So now the only time I get to see you smile is in the darkest rooms with the brownest tiles. And to hear you laugh is a sweet refrain. So sick with joy, I'm the perfect boy. Our savior's fallen ill, but here's a souvenir, another saint to pierce against your bedroom wall. It says you can't give up and that you won't wake up, until you close your eyes and lay down.