| Take me under, take me under your wing
|
| Crack of thunder as the wild bird sings
|
| You can hear her hunger crying out
|
| A sonic echo that leaves no room for doubt
|
| Call the shots
|
| Bring it back to what it’s not
|
| Make a move
|
| Do what we do
|
| As the world cries tears in our hands
|
| Are we all part of a bigger plan
|
| Call the shots bring it back to what it’s not
|
| Deepest oceans they can’t portray enough
|
| Empty spaces turn to rust and dust
|
| There’s no wonder left for us to love
|
| No warmth or shelter just satellites above
|
| Call the shots
|
| Bring it back to what it’s not
|
| Make a move
|
| Do what we do
|
| As the world cries tears in our hands
|
| Are we all part of a bigger plan
|
| Call the shots bring it back to what it’s not |