| How do I wake my spirit cold?
|
| We always say when our history’s told
|
| If only we knew the things we know
|
| There’s a question ages old
|
| Let me down easy, let me down slow
|
| If all good things ever come and go
|
| Let me back down in a place I know
|
| Hold the nail for the hammer stroke
|
| Oh, this my trash, this my tome
|
| Oh, this my blood, this my bone
|
| How do I learn my dreams to mold
|
| To lay them bare in the morning cold?
|
| If they’re still out there then the chasm grows
|
| For all you know, for all you’ve known
|
| Let me down easy, let me down slow
|
| If all good things ever come and go
|
| Let me back down in a place I know
|
| Hold that nail for the hammer stroke
|
| Oh, this my weapon, this my loam
|
| Oh, this my blood, this my bone
|
| How do I wake my spirit cold?
|
| Most people die but others just go
|
| She’s still out there and the chasm grows
|
| Steady are the feet in the morning glow
|
| Oh, this my trash, this my tome
|
| Oh, this my weapon, this my loam
|
| Oh, this my mountain, this is my home
|
| How do I wake my spirit cold?
|
| There’s a question ages old |