Scarecrow

i put my faith
in the absence of something better
if it doesn't fit then its out of reach for me
i'm a tightly wound mess
neatly perched inside my own distress
and you talk of freedom
that means nothing to me
and then you say

how we ever gonna know if there's something better
is the only way to know ourselves to go too far

i spend my days in a fear
one day a wind will blow me away
the only thing that keeps me here
are these strings of mine that hold me down
i watch the rise and fall of a thousand days
it means nothing to me
cause i've been promised redemption
for a life time wasted in these golden fields

so far so good so many promises
swinging in the wind directions something that i can't control
creation eludes me its all just waiting time here in this field
nothing but a scarecrow waiting for the world to tear me down

how we ever gonna know
if there's something better
how are we gonna come to be the same
if we come to fair to realise
how we ever gonna become
something better then what we've become
or are we just scarecrows just waiting?
or are we just...