Oh my winter wings don't fail me now.
I've been crashing into sunsets, falling to the ground.
Well I moved to the city, with a dollar to my name.
With holes in both my shoes, and a pocket full of uh-oh honey.
Maybe I'm the fool, the one who steals the sunlight.
Maybe I'm the chord, who'll rhapsodize your sunrise.
Maybe I'm an Icarus, a heap out on the highway singing
Wake up in the morning, on the search for grace.
Walk the bars find a random stranger with a kind enough face.
I suppose that I would call you, just to hear you say hello.
But for all the life I've left untold, couldn't buy time on a telephone.
An inch above the breakdown,
an inch below the high.
If you find you Eden lacking,
do you stay or do you ride?