As children We collect tomorrows Like they belong to us We stack them so high They hide the people Standing in front of us I wonder How many goodbye kisses have been shortened By someone Already thinking about next week Oh Oh Who decided that arriving Was more important than traveling? Or was that always waiting for us Quietly Like growing older Without noticing it happen? Oh Oh When did we stop Walking into a room And start walking Through it? How many faces became furniture Simply because They were always there? Oh Oh We spend years Learning the shape of the future Nobody teaches us The shape Of enough Maybe that's why We leave pieces of ourselves behind Not in the places We remember But in the conversations we hurried In the hands We only held While thinking About letting go Oh Oh Sometimes I think the road isn't taking us anywhere Maybe It's taking things from us So slowly We mistake the loss For success If we were given One afternoon back Would we spend it changing history Or simply looking properly At someone We thought Would always be there? No reverse gear Not because The road is cruel Because it never promised Another pass Only Another mile As children we learn to hoard our futures in dreams We make into other people's nightmares Oh Oh
