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TOUCHSTONE
overhead the sky seems almost clear

the fire has seen the water dry
& age falls back on itself again
save yourself
stay warm by the hope you hold
I do - I do

what kind of home is this?
what kind of home is this?
I don't know, I don't care
what time of day it is

"send me more water, & now" she cried
the clock rolls it's tired eyes
wait 'til morning
hold out until it comes

heaven knows where all this goes
wasted thoughts that find no words
are you listening?
are you listening?

what kind of home lets the cold winds blow in
from the badlands around where we are?
how can a moment burn down the bridges
we've worked hard so long to secure?
it's a fine time for kind hearts
to hang up their fine thoughts
& throw all regret to the fire
& burn with their memory
the wounds & the reveries
that all of their efforts have bought

gainsay resigning & challenge maintained
we borrow the skills for the course
& hand in the outcome
forgetting to count up
that seconds in time are our loss

so christen these kind hearts
with names they don't deserve
& measure out the sanity
that falls into lunacy
hung bitter sweet
faded & lost

please don't turn away from the innocence we hear
perfection is always ruined when it's near enough to hear
those here would die for me I fear
& no one tries by their own admission
so pass the time & the ammunition
there is more for those still searching
oh come on & look again
it's not a question of superstition
there is no need to be afraid