I used to think that we would never know enough That we were caught between a shadow and a bluff A scent so fleeting, so misleading, us A storm cloud's passion Spirit, ashes, us We can sink our teeth in whatever fare we want We can fill our rooms or leave them vacant, waiting Endless options, rooms of boxes, us Filled or empty, Feigned or living, us And when we cross the street And leave the salesmen wagging tongues Behind the cemetery field Is the wild open We were meant to be a tributary running down Cause the valley's meant to be To be filled with children