Still left missing the warm light and those who fill it
Home never feels quite like a home
and like all dreamers I mistook disenchantment for truth
It gets so lonely chasing my own ghost in this dead city
How can we depend on hearts and stars when there was never any hope for ours
And you'll remain at arms length
Are we merely chasing lost days or drifting with ourselves to blame, questioning absence of our heartbeats
What might a band like Indian Summer or Native Nod sound like if they were thrashing around a 21st century basement? It could be something like this. Luke