Touchstone

Overhead the sky seems almost clear the fire has seen the water dry and age falls back on itself again save yourself and stay warm by the hope you hold like I do I do What kind of home is this? What kind of home is this? I don't know, I don't care what time of day it is "Send me more water, and now" she cried and the clock rolls it's tired eyes wait until morning hold out until it comes Heaven know swhere all this goes wasted thoughts that find no words are you listening? Are you listening? What kind of home lets the cold winds blow in from the badlands around where we are? And how can a moment burn down the bridges we've worked hard so long to secure? It's a fine time for kind hearts to hang up their fine thoughts and throw all regret to the fire and burn with their memory the wounds and the reveries that all of their efforts have bought gainsay resigning and callenge maintained we borrow the skills for the course andhand itn the outcome forgetting to count up that seconds in time are our loss So christen these kind hearts with names they don't deserve and measure out the sanity that falls into lunacy hung bitter sweet faded and lost Please don't turn away from the innocence we hear perfection is always ruined when it's near enough to hear those here would die for me I fear and no one trys by their own admission so pass the time and the ammunition there is more for those still searching oh come on and look again it's not a question of superstition there is no need to be afraid