| We are the walls in formless shapes |
| The overbearing weight |
| This house weighs heavy on my mind |
| Erasing tapes, undocumented faiths |
| Took down your pictures and your belongings |
| In boxes buried under the soil |
| In the yard behind our tree, you’ll wait |
| Wrote tiny poems through the lines of my hands |
| Little birds flew by me. The wind’s been calling your name south |
| In pursuit of foreign lands |
| Can’t go back. Where’s your tact? |
| Where’s your grace? |
| Where are the things you replace? |
| Are our words more than sound? |
| We cut the air and we’ve found |
| To lose your faith in the world is to lose faith in yourself |
| We are ghosts in your homes |
| We travel under the floor |
| And when our voices fail us we will find new ways to sing |
| When our bodies fail we’ll find joy in the peace that it brings |
| The world is a beautiful place but we have to make it that way |
| The world is a beautiful place but we have to make it that way |
| Whenever you find home we’ll make it more than just a shelter |
| And if everyone belongs there it will hold us all together |
| If you’re afraid to die, then so am I |
| The world is a beautiful place but we have to make it that way |
| Whenever you find home we’ll make it more than just a shelter |
| And if everyone belongs there it will hold us all together |
| If you’re afraid to die, then so am I |