West Radical Face

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Familiar ground's a distant thing
When you travel vague and crooked roads
And the sun's a scab on vacant skies
Now we always hope we're still alone

There's too much time for idle minds
Imagination's armed with hooks and knives
We count our fears to pass the time
Tired or not, don't close your eyes

A picket fence
A painted house
A quiet life
One where our days are calm
And night's are spent in kind
One where our hopes and dreams
Are attainable things
One where time can't reach

Gain half the plains now
Cut mountain chains down
Sleep when you can
You can't know how the night's fall

Things will be better there
Things will be good there
Don't stop to think
Just chase the dream we're chasing