Sense

In that garden, past the colors
there is black and white
And they all ask the questions
you know the answers to
And in my quest for new salvation
and dividing wrong from right
I felt fingers push right through

Someday this will all make sense to me

New icon make a random attire
pretty standing on the top of distinction-
So we sat for a while, on the floor
of the aisle, of the temple I was
So how about you did you say
won't there at least come a day
when we ask ourselves
"When can we breath again?"

You asked for freedom,
you asked for patience, you're alive
This tiny trembling is the hand
of indecision, all your own
Cuz in the end its only I

Someday this will all make sense to me

In between a walking dream or the shadow
we ask if we cry ourselves aloud
Do the tears in your eyes belong
to realize our sense?
So how about you did you say
won't there at least come a day
when we ask ourselves
"When can we breath again?"