If I don't stand out like a star among the moons.
If I'm always late and he always backs away too soon.
I walk the world with a skin so thin,
I can wear no adequate protection,
everything comes crashing in.
If I'm too wide open for this place,
but not enough for him to recognize my face.
How will he find me
with no one's arms to gather me together?
How will he find me?
Only held by gravity, faded with uncertainty,
no longer young and not that pretty,
how will he ever find me?
It never seems to matter, the tears I cry,
there's a well inside me that never runs dry
from being born I guess, and born again until we die.
The music and the hope for love keep me alive.
Still I wonder, how will he find me?
And what shall I do with a drunken heart
with goggle eyes and the troubling hunger
reaching forward to trick mirror men,
leaning out and in again.
If love is a game, how can it be creation?
And if I'm wasting my time,
how will he find me?