We all start with blunt tools and broken bridges Our only sense to mend them Stumble over missing slats and severed ropes We try to weave them closed But our forlorn cries erode The weathers spoke And we stand like ghosts in pallid light Scratching numerals with nails to keep track of days Using salt from ocean spray to dress the bridges wounds Has this come too soon Not soon enough for me
[02:03.09]We all start with blunt tools and broken bridges [02:08.23]Our only sense to mend them [02:11.11]Stumble over missing slats and severed ropes [02:14.61]We try to weave them closed [02:17.31]But our forlorn cries erode [02:20.51]The weathers spoke [02:22.96]And we stand like ghosts in pallid light [02:25.05]Scratching numerals with nails to keep track of days [02:30.74]Using salt from ocean spray to dress the bridges wounds [02:35.19]Has this come too soon [02:38.47]Not soon enough for me [02:41.24]
