Touchstone

Overhead, the sky seems almost clear
 And the fire has seen the water dry
 And age falls back on itself again
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 Save yourself
 Stay warm by the hope you hold like I do, I do
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 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, and now" she cried
 And the clock rolls it's tired eyes
 Wait until morning
 Hold out until it comes
 Heaven know where all this goes
 Wasted thoughts that find no words
 Are you listening? Are you listening
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 What kind of home lets the cold winds blow in
 From the badlands around where we are?
 And 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
 And throw all regret to the fire
 And burn with their memory, the wounds
 And the reveries that all of their efforts have bought
 Gainsay resigning and challenge maintained
 We conquer the victim to counter the circumstances behind our loss
 So constantly flared up by the emotion
 And their sanity is bound clearly firm
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 It's not a question of superstition, there is no need to be afraid