|
Every street is dark |
|
And folding out mysteriously |
|
Where lies the chance |
|
We take to be always working |
|
Reaching out for a hand |
|
That we can't see |
|
Everybody's got a hold on hope |
|
It's the last thing that's holding me |
|
Invitation to the last dance |
|
Then it's time to leave |
|
That's the price we pay |
|
When we deceive |
|
One another animal mother |
|
She opens up for free |
|
Everybody's got a hold on hope |
|
It's the last thing that's holding me |
|
Look at the talk box |
|
In mute frustration at the station |
|
There hides the cowboy |
|
Look at the talk box |
|
In mute frustration at the station |
|
There hides the cowboy |
|
His campfire flickering on the landscape |
|
But nothing grows on but the time still goes on |
|
Through each life of misery |
|
Everybody's got a hold on hope |
|
It's the last thing that's holding me |
|
Everybody's got a hold on hope |
|
It's the last thing that's holding me |
|
Everybody's got a hold on hope |
|
It's the last thing that's holding me |
