Round Here

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog where no one notices the contrast of white on white.

And in between the moon and youth angels get a better view of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.

I walk in the air between the rain through myself and back again

Where I don't know - Maria says she's dying through the door I hear her crying

Why I don't know

Round here we always stand up straight

Round here something radiates

Round here we're carving out our names

Round here we all look the same

Round here we talk just like lions But we sacrifice like lambs

Round here she's slipping through my hands

Says she's tired of life

Well everybody's tired of something

Round here she's always on my mind

Counting Crows