My feet were meant to walk on cobbled stones,
My head forever in the clouds.
My ears weren't supposed to hear the hum of the city and the cars flying past me, or my eyes to see the morbid grey gravestones of the buildings I'm caged by.
I was meant to listen to the crackle of leaves, the sweet subtle melody of silence, save for the odd high note of an animal conversation, the tinkering of church bells.
If I have the right beat in my step, the right thoughts in my head,
I can almost imagine I'm where I ought to be, I can smell the homemade bread,
I can feel the crisp clean air. Everything around me,
even the dull street I walk down now, is a mere memory.
I am transported home and this relatity right now, right here is nothing but a past image.
One day that will be true.
I was born for greater things, there's a north wind blowing me on,
the sun shines a pathway of light into the beyond
I won't give up on you Grace, even if everyone else does.
I won't give up on you until you become as real as I am.
When we stand where we're meant to be,
when we're in our rightful place, strong and free.