Saints Don’t Bleed

Yeah, I’ve been cut by love and grace,

Buried my guilt in a holy place.

But the saints all stare while the sinners feed,

And I learned quick—saints don’t bleed.

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She had a cross on her chain, venom in her kiss,

Said, “Boy, redemption don’t taste like this.”

I tried to pray, but the words turned black,

Now I’m preaching from the bottle with no turning back.

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I ain’t begging for forgiveness,

I don’t need no crown.

I’m the voice in the thunder when the heavens drown.

You can call it sin, I call it creed—

I live loud ‘cause saints don’t bleed.

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I wore my pain like Sunday clothes,

Looked too clean for the dirt I know.

She tore my soul, I took the lead,

Now my faith runs red ‘cause saints don’t bleed.

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Every sin’s a story, every scar’s a psalm,

I found my peace in a lover’s calm.

You want holy? You better believe,

The devil’s got truth that the saints won’t see.

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I ain’t begging for forgiveness,

I don’t bow to need.

I’m the hymn in the fire, not the prayer that pleads.

You can preach salvation, I’ll take speed—

‘Cause I live loud, and saints don’t bleed.

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So pour that grace in a dirty glass,

Here’s to the sinners that never ask.

Love me wrong, I’ll still succeed—

Crawlback’s gospel: saints don’t bleed.