Gregory Alan Isakov - Saint Valentine lyrics

Well, Grace she's gone
She's a half-written poem
She went out for cigarettes
And never came home and I swallowed the sun
And screamed and wailed
Straight down to the dirt so
I could find her trail
Spread out across the Great Divide

Well, I just came to talk, Saint Valentine
I never pictured you living here with
The rats and the vines
Ain't that my old heart hanging
Out on your lines
You're all fucked up, Saint Valentine

Now I circle the bars on the promenade
While the girls in the glass
They're just throwing me shade
And I'm saving my coins up for Jingling Jane
She's out plucking strings in
The pouring pouring
She's out plucking strings in
The pouring rain

See I'm all crooked feet, Saint Valentine
I've circled this map till it caught on fire
Now Grace she's left you just skin and bone
Well, you hang up your hat
But you can't call it home
Oh you've tried and you've tried
But you can't call it home

You're the loneliest one, Saint Valentine
You're the loneliest one, Saint Valentine
Well you're all fucked up, Saint Valentine