Wielding words like butchers knives into the room I held you though you patronised and spoke ill of the dead in my arms the tundra thawed the table rocked a generation was reborn a well earned rest the mocking ceased.
What became of baby ray when the father fired his shots
Was it for fame and money that a lineage was lost
Where are you returning to the sweet spot of the day
It takes more than just hopeful notions to love without delay
Retreating like an argument into a shell our misinterpretations cast out for words are spells dissolving ill timed ego trips we fuelled the flood I hoped it would remove your hood the settling suds.
What became of baby ray when the father fired his shots
Was it for fame and money that a lineage was lost
What was it that dropped them to a place of no reprieve
Was it for lack of trying that their bond became diseased
Where are you returning to the sweet spot of the day
It takes more than just hopeful notions for us not to be afraid
It takes more than just hopeful notions to love without delay.
