hope runs its fingers through knotted hair
and exhumes hearts that were laid to rest

a gravely thought surfaced in the head of
the ones who once did pirouettes
with their words, risked reality for the sake of dreaming,
everything's normal you just can't get hurt

hope runs its fingers through our lucky days
and assures us in time another will come
out of the bushes straight our way

it's the caboose, the last fall, the remainder of it all
it nests in hiding, look up
higher than you think possible
its dust has marked park benches
you wont see it until you put on glasses
you wont see it until you move one step forward

some days it doesn't come out to play
but it isn't a game, it's the key to
a door that has been locked for ages

look, I have closets full of combinations
that were destroyed under the flames of
pure misfortune,

I really do believe that through this quest, we will find that individual key

Once we do,
we come to life

you're always welcomed