The long walk home,
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back to a no name town.
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Where people pass me by
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in red and white lines.
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Your only son can't make you proud.
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The moon and stars, this frozen clock.
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And if in years to come we can talk like friends,
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can I close my eyes and wake up then?
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Drown out the sound of adulthood
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with songs that fell from out of space.
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At seventeen I wouldn't dare to dream
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because hope's a dangerous thing.
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I won't thank god, I'll thank my friends,
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for sticking by till we're home again.
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What matters most to me belongs to you.
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Hope's a dangerous thing.
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I pinch myself to see,
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that if this curtain drops, this isn't me.
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Pack my bags, no time to waste.
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We leave no trace of us.
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Still my pillow rings.
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Untitled
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| Architects |
