Propped up on crutches are the lies that we tell each day
but the truth it shows on our face.
Wild eyed and desperate. All filled up with empty space.
Empty hearts and empty heads
that I have to believe we could change.
Why do we love what hurts us the most?
Why is the hardware all wrong and the software full of ghosts?
At least the rain will be kind to me.
Let it wash my heart and wash my hands clean.
With heavy brushes we apply another coat of paint
to cover up the nasty stains.
Worshiping idols so far removed from the day to day
when we could be the light, the way
and I choose to believe that we could change.
Why do we love what hurts us the most?
Why is the hardware all wrong and the software full of ghosts?
At least the rain will be kind to me.
Let it wash my heart and wash my hands clean.
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