We all start with blunt tools and broken bridges
Our only sense to mend them
Stumble over missing slats and severed ropes
We try to weave them closed
But our forlorn cries erode
The weathers spoke
And we stand like ghosts in pallid light
Scratching numerals with nails to keep track of days
Using salt from ocean spray to dress the bridges wounds
Has this come too soon
Not soon enough for me
[02:03.09]We all start with blunt tools and broken bridges
[02:08.23]Our only sense to mend them
[02:11.11]Stumble over missing slats and severed ropes
[02:14.61]We try to weave them closed
[02:17.31]But our forlorn cries erode
[02:20.51]The weathers spoke
[02:22.96]And we stand like ghosts in pallid light
[02:25.05]Scratching numerals with nails to keep track of days
[02:30.74]Using salt from ocean spray to dress the bridges wounds
[02:35.19]Has this come too soon
[02:38.47]Not soon enough for me
[02:41.24]