they say my eyes hold many stories
and maybe it's true
but we are mirrors of each other
and I don't smile for tomorrow like they do
I'm not looking to be right because everyone else
ended up being wrong
that kinda hope ain't no hope at all
just a kind of vengeful smiling despair
so I walk on not saying that I disagree
my eyes got age that my skin don't show
and they don't ask for nothin' so hard they
can't accept somethin'
I want to sit and listen, hear the clouds or whispering
of the trees
but they just got to talk about praying for the lord
and know god walked out the second he was
called on in that manner
I look at him, he stares at me and his
eyes train off at nothing and shadows
and that's what I feel we have in common
cause tonight
a little girl will get lost and found in the village
and lovers will miss each other
old men will complain the way young men do about
the way things used to be
and somewhere compassion is still being dueled out
if by drops from a leaky faucet
it's a skip lonesome as the night and long as the
montana evening in july
but it's mine and take it out where their tomorrow
is still my today
