| She got down on hands and knees
|
| One ear against the ground
|
| Holding her breath to hear something
|
| But the dirt made not a sound tonight
|
| Echoes of songs still lurk on distant foreign shores
|
| Where we danced just to please the gods that only ask for more
|
| And so it goes
|
| But still we give ourselves to this
|
| We can’t spend our lives waiting to live
|
| On cold nights
|
| In a prayer for dawn
|
| But the daylight
|
| Isn’t what she wants
|
| The concrete
|
| Calls my name again
|
| I’m falling
|
| Through the cracks I slip
|
| The postcard says wish you were here
|
| But I’d rather I was there
|
| Holding on to the simple things before they disappear
|
| That’s what I meant
|
| But that was then, and this is now
|
| I’ll make it up to you somehow
|
| On cold nights
|
| In a prayer for dawn
|
| The daylight
|
| Isn’t what she wants
|
| The concrete
|
| Calls my name again
|
| I’m falling
|
| Through the cracks I slip
|
| A destination, a fading smile
|
| Another station, another mile
|
| Another day gone, I swore that I will
|
| Be there before dawn
|
| So be there, I will
|
| She got down on hands and knees
|
| One ear against the ground
|
| Holding her breath to hear something
|
| Anything at all
|
| The dirt whispered, «Child, I’m coming home»
|
| On cold nights
|
| In a prayer for dawn
|
| But the daylight
|
| Isn’t what she wants
|
| The concrete
|
| Calls my name again
|
| I’m falling
|
| Through the cracks I slip |