It comes to those who wait
At the barrel of a gun
Put my arm up to your face
Pull the trigger just for fun
In the corner of the room
In the corner of the same room The feeling still remains
Catch
the bus down to the beach
But I can't find my way Pick a
face that I can't reach
Then I know I've got to stay
Do I recognize the choice?
Or is it all the same?
Do I recognize my own choice?
Do the
feelings still remain?
