|
there is no map for where we're goin' |
|
we'll have to trust the stars |
|
and all that we know is what we were told |
|
and now we'll have to start |
|
to build our own stories with fresh churned earth |
|
it's too late for fairy tales |
|
we'll need water and dirt |
|
so water with hope and bury your hurt |
|
and soon enough |
|
there'll be a garden |
|
this one's a newborn with clear blue eyes |
|
she's free from history and all of its lies |
|
so we'll say farewell to the ghosts of the past |
|
and we'll write a new book at long |
|
long last |
|
yes this is a story of what it's all worth |
|
the pain and the glory |
|
the death and the birth |
|
so water with hope and bury your hurt |
|
and soon enough there'll be a garden |
|
there is no map for where we're goin' |
|
we'll have to trust the stars |
|
and all that we know is what we were told |
|
and now we'll have to start |
|
to build our own stories with fresh churned earth |
|
it's too late for fairy tales |
|
we'll need water and dirt |
|
so water with hope and bury your hurt |
|
and soon enough |
|
there'll be a garden |
