Ominous Mystery

It's just a scar that acts like a scar,

like a car that drives like a car.

It's not an ominous mystery,

if you appreciate it's quality.

It's just a stone that acts like a stone,

like a home that feels like a home.

There'll be no rude awakening,

when we find comfort in common things.

Here's to the nights of despair when the stones are carved out.

Here's to the mornings of hope when you're holding the end of a stroke.

Here's to holding the line.

Here's to old friends and good times.

There is no scene no plan of escape,

no hidden feet behind the colorful drapes.

There's only now and possibilities,

when we get cast the point of bigger trees.

It's just a choice that acts like a choice,

like a voice that sounds like a voice.

We ought to take responsibillity,

or we can opt the chance of liberty.

I'll walk you home.

I stop and repause,

revilling echoes avoid applause.

I'll walk, you talk, I stop and you pause.

I've got no clue of applausable noise.

Here's to the nights of despair when the stones are carved out.

Here's to the mornings of hope when you're holding the end of a stroke.

Here's to the nights of despair when the stones are carved out.

Here's to the mornings of hope when you're holding the end of a stroke.

Here's to holding the line.

Here's to old friends and good times.

Source: Musixmatch