abiding the time I never had
Waiting for the tides to turn
In a war where I stopped fighting
In a place I stopped caring
High above the city
The weary vagabond sleeps
Waiting for his time to come
Day by day
Season by season
This wasn't the life he asked for
Wandering these halls instead
The worlds behind closed doors
We're supposed to be the concrete illusions
That he desperately needed
But the windows to the world
The real one this time
Are the only thing that he travels to