Our Fathers

(альбом: The Bluest Sage - 2014)

Throwing stones
From the edge
Did I make you feel, damaged?

A photograph
Not a portrait lies
So make your call, or I'll make mine

In the storm we called our fathers
In the storm we called our fathers

Squint your eyes
Until you can see
What's hidden or what's frightening

If it's the cold you want
Then bundle up
If it's love you need
Then trust your gut

In the storm we told our fathers
In the storm we told our fathers
In the storm we told our fathers
In the storm we told our fathers
We drove on...
We drove on...
We drove on...
We drove on...

Singing whoa-oh
Whoa-oh, whoa-oh
Whoa-oh, whoa-oh
Whoa-oh, whoa-oh
Whoa-oh...

Shadowing, these white lines
Does it take us far
Or does it lead us blind?
Does it take us far
Or does it lead us blind?
Does it take us far
Or does it lead us blind?

In the storm we called our fathers
In the storm we called our fathers
In the storm we called our fathers
In the storm we called our fathers
We drove on...
We drove on...
We drove on...
We drove on...
We drove on...