Golden sands in the palm of our hands
reaching out across the sea
feel the sun on naked skin
half asleep as we breathe
but we can't help but think
of the blood red lands
that bring us to our knees again
in the ice cold breeze
and the road outside looks long
and the road inside looks tired and worn
and the people they want to fight
against anything and everything that feels alright
mumbled joys in the park
time slows and plays it's part
seconds spent on emptiness
with no money left for bread
and the road outside looks long
and the road inside looks tired and worn
and the people they want to fight
against anything and everything that feels alright