[VERSE]

Indiana Sundays

A good coat

The smell of something and someone trying

Vows

You learn the word before you learn the cost

Before you understand that giving yourself to something

And losing yourself to something

Aren't the same wound

You read it like it's still the year it was written

Something that was once alive

But is now just scheduled

Sit in the old wood

You hear your lost voices—

But you can’t tell who’s who

[PRE-Chorus]

It bent on the way down

You could hear it

You don't follow it into the ground

You hold what you had at the top

[Chorus]

You still—

What’s left—

After you strip it

Aftеr you burn the minutes

After thе last mouth closes

You don't need it witnessed

You don't need a room

You just need the thing that woke you up at three a.m

To still be real

[VERSE]

You turn a rock

Looking for the mark 'Made by God’

The way everything else is labeled

The way nothing important ever is

You twist the promise on your finger

Like the fear of being wrong

Is louder than the words

You know that fear

You lived inside it

Wear it like your good coat

You just stop pretending the fear and your faith

Were the same

[PRE-Chorus]

It settles when you let it

You stop chasing

What stayed is enough

What left was never yours

[Chorus]

YOU STILL BELIEVE WHAT’S LEFT

Who chose to stay or who chose to go

What was trying to get through

What endured

What you still feel when you're alone

And too tired to lie

[BRIDGE]

What reaches you

Survived everything between the source

And here—

Hold it for what it is

Not for what it was called

On the way

You’ve seen the distance

Between what was promised and what arrived

And what arrived

Was all you had

And it was enough

And you’re still here

[BRIDGE]

YOU STILL BELIEVE

GOD FORGIVE YOU

Not the way you were taught

The way you had to

Not the approved version

Something older

Something that doesn't need ratifying

[OUTRO]

WE SAY IT (WE ALL SAY IT)

Even the ones who stopped believing say it

Eyes down

Hands folded

Still wearing it

The way we were shown

Muscle memory is its own kind of faith