Letra de The Best Direction To Be
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Within the widow's cabin lies the photograph of Civil War. Grandpa's toils and his troubles, and his dreams along the shore- of a life I wish I knew, a life I still search for.
And yet where this old world gone? Where are they now, those golden days? How could they have past so fast? Surely they were not a phase. I think I see them, in the passing haze.
I look again and I realize that what I saw was simply not the past. I think it threw and I come to know that those days just weren't meant to last. And now the only way to see them is to stare into the glass.
Upon the mantle, by the photo, sits a painting of the shore. And Grandpa's journal, ripped to shreds, sits in pieces on the floor. And in the background, faintly distant, I can hear a slamming door... I wonder what it's for.
And yet where this old world gone? Where are they now, those golden days? How could they have past so fast? Surely they were not a phase. I think I see them, in the passing haze.
I look again and I realize that what I saw was simply not the past. I think it threw and I come to know that those days just weren't meant to last. And now the only way to see them is to stare into the glass.
Upon the mantle, by the photo, sits a painting of the shore. And Grandpa's journal, ripped to shreds, sits in pieces on the floor. And in the background, faintly distant, I can hear a slamming door... I wonder what it's for.
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