Lyrics

You cry into your paint
Then brush away your face
And you go to church and play the golden Sunday morning saint

There’s nothing out of place
No strand of hair or eyelash in the frame
You’re a picture-perfect image of a martyr praying all your shame away

Your vain and careless art

You kneel down for each prayer
Mouthing all the words you know aren’t there
You stand up and you shake your neighbors hands as if you really, truly care

You take and you receive
You profit from the belief
You’re a faithful, humble servant of the people who are most in need

Your vain and careless art
Your vain and careless
Vain and careless
Vain and careless art
Your shameful, hurtful heart

The seconds tick away
For minutes, hours, then days
Spending every single waking moment worried how you might appear today