Dust
In quiet sorrow lies
On empty faces.
Now, of all the times
And of all the places.
Is this how it goes?
Is this how it goes?
I suppose.
I waited by the phone to hear another story.
Then prayed aloud and cried alone, like so many before me.
That's how it goes.
That's how it goes.
I suppose.
All we are is dust.
All we are is dust.
But no one understands that we can heavy hearted.
Cause no one sees their end 'till they're right back where they started.
Don't you know?
All we are is dust after all.
All we are is dust.
That's how it goes.
That's how it goes.
I suppose.
