War of indians

I wake up alone in this sleepless city
and sometimes I recall the things I left behind
I wake up confused, by where the temple gates have gone
and maybe I've betrayed, the ones I loved the most

but I am not a victim, I'm Just a sleepless wanderer
I'm not a frightened man... The third son of a king

I wake up alone, near friends that I call family
and sometimes I move on when my city fills with smoke
Yeah I tried communion bread... yet it had no taste to me
I wanted to fill my cup, wanted to believe

I am not a victim, just a sleepless wanderer
I'm not a frightened man, The third son of a king

For thirty years I wrestled God, and all of his angel friends
lost the fight to sober up... Lost the war of Indians

and I don't need to believe again, 'cause I've been praying all along
It's just I'm not what most would call... any kind of Christian man