In Stitches - David Bazan

My body bangs and twitches, this brown liquor wets my tounge.

My fingers find the stitches, firmly back and forth they run.

I need no other memory of the bits of me I left

When all this lethal drinking is to hopefully forget about you.

I might as well admit it, like I even have a choice.

The crew have killed the captain, but they still can hear his voice.

A shadow on the water, a whisper in the wind.

On long walks with my daughter, who is lately full of questions about you.

About you.

When Job asked you the question, you responded «Who are you

To challenge your creator?"Well if that one part is true

It makes you sound defensive, like you had not thought it through

enough to have an answer, or you might have bit off more than you could chew.