I used to think that we
Could 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