Your memory, it knocks out me like I'm made ofnA living, breathing questionnI can't stop or start or pull apartnSo I become a childnStomping feet and handsnAnd to justify those colder monthsnI turn them into years, yearsnnAnd in them still no answersnJust old familiar fearsnnAnd an endless hope to feelnThat some day I'll belong to someonenThe way I belong to younThe way I belong...nnYour memory is like some frame I depend uponnFor all the new fitted pictures in themnI only see what's gonenA hundred possiblities are worth nonenIf none are takennThere's a hundred thousand monologuesnWorth less than one conversationnnA question and an answernOh, these old familiar fearsnnAnd an endless hope to feelnThat some day I'll belong to someonenThe way I belong to younThe way I belong...nnUntil your time comes my waynI keep livingnI keep livingnUntil your time comes my waynI keep livingnI keep livingnn