Will the worries that trouble you sonbe an anchor commandeered coat?nThe weight that drags your life past the far ends of control.nnIt’s the manner of men and of mimes.nOur stitched lips are safes for the motives.nAnd the bottled lives cry,nI hope the rain of rocks is mild!nnThat old arcade ghost haunts you.nnFault lines draw the balance beams that we tip toe.nOur lives dangle just above the fingers of fire,nwhen worth is woe.nFault lines draw the balance beams that we tip toe.nOur lives dangle just above the fingers of fire,nWe hold for hope...nnAbove the fire...nnSwell. thats just swell.ncrack the safe, feed the lions that parade hungry eyes far belownthe surface of safety we patrol.nYoung acrobats we learn the distance.nnThought it wiser to play us a game.nIt’s a gamble and the table won’t pay.nShall we set our watch as the youth desire expires?nnYou cant sleep in that mess, though you tried.nthe fever licked your brow with a cold sweat.nand the shakes you couldn't quiet wore your teeth down in the night.nnThat old cliche that worked you.nnFault lines draw the balance beams that we tip toe.nOur lives dangle just above the fingers of fire,nwhen worth is woe.nFault lines draw the balance beams that we tip toe.nOur lives dangle just above the fingers of fire,nWe hold for hope...