Hands in line

Arms close to my side

IÕm fighting tides of an oceanÕs undertow

And I figure I might not make it

And IÕm taking empty

But seldom keeping

And the words retreat breathing histories into stories untold

And I unfold.



My hands are high

And IÕm holding out, holding up

Because I figure that I just might make it

And IÕm waking empty but seldom sleeping

And the words repeat breathing histories into stories untold

And I unfold.



Quality is what you see now in the corner of your eye.

DonÕt be surprised if you hear the bells ring

They form from the sky and they sound bong, bong, bong

And IÕm holding up because I figure that I just make it.



And IÕm waking empty but seldom sleeping

And the words repeat breathing histories into stories untold

And I unfold.