[02:03.09]We all start with blunt tools and broken bridges
[02:08.23]Our only sense to mend them
[02:11.11]Stumble over missing slats and severed ropes
[02:14.61]We try to weave them closed
[02:17.31]But our forlorn cries erode
[02:20.51]The weathers spoke
[02:22.96]And we stand like ghosts in pallid light
[02:25.05]Scratching numerals with nails to keep track of days
[02:30.74]Using salt from ocean spray to dress the bridges wounds
[02:35.19]Has this come too soon
[02:38.47]Not soon enough for me
[02:41.24]