(Verse 1) Woke up inside an empty room, a mirror on the wall Just bare awareness looking out, no meaning there at all A blank slate in the morning cold, before the search began I stepped outside to ask the world to make me feel a man. I checked the hearth of family ties, I studied through the night I chased the rush of pleasure till the morning killed the light I labored at the anvil, thought the work would fill the space Still hunting for an anchor in a shifting, hollow place. (Chorus) Is it just a phantom waiting round the bend? A fever in the craving that collapses in the end? Or is it something deeper than the fever in the bone— A living line cast downward from a high eternal throne? Hope is not a hollow wish, hope is not a wire Strung across the ashes of an unfulfilled desire. (Verse 2) Down in the dark subconscious where the hidden engines grind The values that we never speak are pulling at the mind And tucked behind the curtains sleeps the bitter root of spite: Resentment keeps the ledger, slowly poisoning the sight. It tricks the eye to worship what the showroom windows sell— The brand new car, the shining screen, the momentary spell. The thrill was in the reaching, in the hunger of the chase; Possession brought the silence back, an even colder place. (Chorus) Is it just a phantom waiting round the bend? A fever in the craving that collapses in the end? Or is it something deeper than the fever in the bone— A living line cast downward from a high eternal throne? Hope is not a hollow wish, hope is not a wire Strung across the ashes of an unfulfilled desire. (Bridge) The bitter heart will swallow every doctrine on the shelf And trade its living spirit just to justify itself Possessed by rigid visions where the collective must bend Promising salvation while it marches toward the end. It always promises the dawn just past the prison wall A counterfeit horizon that delivers none at all. To look ahead to hope is just an exile’s nervous plea— The counterfeit of freedom while you’re locked beneath the key. (Guitar / Instrument Solo) (Verse 3) Drop the quiet grievances of what you were denied Unclench the fist against the past, burn away the pride Clear the ancient static that divides the heart in two To see the Maker’s order turn the broken vessel new. Clear the rank hierarchy, let the fever subside Take hold of the spiritual rope hung down above the tide. (Chorus) It isn't just a phantom waiting round the bend No fever in the craving that collapses in the end It is the anchor dropping through the deepest, blackest sea The rope of living spirit setting captured spirits free. Hope is not a fragile thing, hope is not a wire Strung across the ashes of an unfulfilled desire. (Outro) Unshakable, the state of mind when all the venom clears A quiet paradoxical, surviving all the years Past, present, and the future lay their heavy weapons down No longer chasing shadows in a temporary town. The storm still rages overhead, the wind begins to cease— Beyond all human reckoning, The everlasting peace. The quiet peace. The rope holds fast.
