living in such a world
less conducive to compassion
disease that makes you whine
pitched down that hole
love that would sustain
condition of general amnesty
Meanwhile, I got you,
Your tender words and all the little good they do.
Meanwhile, you got me.
Ain’t no great prize, but at least it comes for free.
It’s an act of conviction, baby, simply holding on,
Keeping forward motion, pretending to be strong.
Listening with all my heart for voices in the wind
That will be singing for us, Baby, when the song begins again.