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A picture on the wall, like a postcard with a better view of, |
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all the things collected from room 209 |
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Diana sips from an empty glass of hope she poured last night |
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the clouds above reflect the shape of all she's got to leave behind |
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We always think there's something better in the place where we are not |
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the dreams the reality of it all, nobody's happy where there at and we |
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all want to be sombody else |
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Another scribbled stationary book of lies, |
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another staged confession that just goes unheard |
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Harry detriot in 304 made one last promise now, |
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"I'm going out without a trace, a vanishing act before your eyes" |
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Nobody wants what they've got and what they've got is not enough |
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the dreams the reality of it all, a lighter shade, a greener grass |
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maybe if I believe it so then i'll be home |
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Here I go uncertain that what I find is what I want, the best for me is everything |
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I reach for the same as what I'm running from |
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I guess i'll never, guess i'll never know |
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Is it the struggle that we live for, is it keeping us alive |
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to breathe, to want, know, love |
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Just one more day, just one more way |
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here I go, I'm half the way home, half the way home, half the way home |
