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