I used to think that we would never know enough
That we were caught between a shadow and a bluff
A scent so fleeting, so misleading, us
A storm cloud's passion
Spirit, ashes, us

We can sink our teeth in whatever fare we want
We can fill our rooms or leave them vacant, waiting
Endless options, rooms of boxes, us
Filled or empty
Feigned or living, us

And when we cross the street
And leave the salesmen wagging tongues
Behind the cemetery field
Is the wild open
We were meant to be a tributary running down
Cause the valley’s meant to be
To be filled with children