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Make a move with what you can |
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Dead waters rise higher than your mind |
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Disappointment is a feather in your cap |
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You want the truth so you can crush it in your hand |
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There's no map, that can tell you where you are |
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You're in between things and only go half way |
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Your tangled brain, your tired old refrain |
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You'd be singing it in your tired old asylum |
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You want the best, you want contests |
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My eyes are filled with prizes you've been showing |
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Your disappointment is a card up your sleeve |
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Place your bets at the door before you leave |
