They say it’s over. They've turned out the lights and drunk themselves to bed.
They say she’s crazy to believe. That she should anticipate the end instead.
They say she’s crazy to believe. That she should anticipate the end instead.
She doesn’t. It’s wild. In her heart. She still believes.
She still holds the lifeless hand of her friend who’s still asleep.
They say the lives that were taken, were just a casualty of war.
They turn tears to dust, turning their faces from the horror.
He lives in a war zone, his bravery is written in the creases on his face.
His windows bare witness, to the demons he’s chased away.
They say redemption is absurd, they claim we’ve been forsaken.
They call themselves indifferent, when deep inside they’re aching.
They are aching. Aren’t they. Don’t they ache for something real.
Don’t their words feel cold, even for people who don't feel.
She still holds the lifeless hand of her friend who’s still asleep.
They say the lives that were taken, were just a casualty of war.
They turn tears to dust, turning their faces from the horror.
He lives in a war zone, his bravery is written in the creases on his face.
His windows bare witness, to the demons he’s chased away.
They say redemption is absurd, they claim we’ve been forsaken.
They call themselves indifferent, when deep inside they’re aching.
They are aching. Aren’t they. Don’t they ache for something real.
Don’t their words feel cold, even for people who don't feel.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTM3lRbdZUk
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