We write pretext to meaning phrases
The moss that grows up
Solid concrete
The arms of steel
The water-soaked feet
We tried to halt the tide
We tried to hold the flood
But much as we try to hide
We are flesh and blood
Here we stand at the top of the world
Nothing to be said
I could take a step
And be falling down
I could walk just a mile
And be free of this town
But a mile is so far
When two blocks requires a boat
On the edge of our fair town
Swamped by our own moat
So tell me, you, my last friend here
How do we go on when there’s
Naught but our own dark fear
The moss will overgrow the stairs
And our eyes will look to the stars
We will stand here
At the top of the world
Being just us, knowing who we are.
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