Do you ask yourself sometimes?
What it is and what will be?
Who we are
Trains may arrive in stations
The hands on the clock
Our fingers
But our hands have never been pure
Who we are

How it feels
To feel
How it feels to feel just the way you do

Don't you want love and silver and gold?
What is truth and how we seek
Who we are
Clocks always strike the minute
But our hands toil with the devils work
Our faces never stay the same
Marching forward
Who we are

And how it feels
To feel
For you
Time doesn't give a reason