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 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
|
When 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
|
But 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 daylight
|
Isn't what she wants
|
|
The concrete
|
Calls my name again
|
I'm falling
|
Through the cracks I slip
|
|
-----------------
|
The Dirt Whispered
|
| Rise Against |
