A ripped open brown paper bag

A question still hung on a breath

A weary and white waving flag

A silence as welcome as death

 

The painting on the wall’s a mockery

Reminder of how much we couldn’t see

 

I thought we could make it

Still thought we could make it

I thought we could make it

Still thought we could make it

 

An ocean of hard-won regret

A paradise left with no trace

A night I would rather forget

A frozen and tear-tortured face

 

An empty room, a hand no longer held

An ancient oak by lightning swiftly felled

 

I thought we could make it

Still thought we could make it

I thought we could make it

Still thought we could make it