Where do you come from
when you don't really know
any decent answers?
When there's no reason for it all
that could give you meaning,
or strip it away,
or leave you contemplating all the doubts you have in it?
Whether we walk or run, we're moving on.
I tell my son that evil comes,
but we'll take our turn under the sun.
I tell my love I'm not giving up loving.
I'm not giving up trying.
And it started to cut through, wild and slow.
Like a crazy river, digging canyons as it goes,
rolling over the brittle, simple things that I let get in my way.
It's the simple things that seem so big.
But whether we walk or run, we're moving on.
I tell my son that evil comes,
but we'll take our turn under the sun.
We'll take our turn. We'll take our turn.