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Little clicks make their breaks in the line and the dust settles down on the floorboards, it's the kind of hope I feel waiting for you.
City bricks tumble up towards the sky, and never return to their owner, hoping that's the right feeling of truth.
He said "you know, I don't want to grow old, I just want to find truth coming from you."
Start to shift through the tumbling, the rubble, for nothing was never set forward. Is it the blight that brings me closer to you?
Mama sat here up all night, and will never recover no more, hoping that's the right meaning of truth.