I held the rooftop of a callused thumb
In the field where the cotton buds bloom
Any shred worth of dignity cast like a bastard born son
Hanging pictures in a 12 x 12 room
The dust in the corner was where I would lay my eyes
Though they burned to pull that sunlight from her face
Between highway 2 and reality was where our romance lied
But for a moment she would free me from this place
Better days will come
Better days lie awake with the dawn
Better days will come
Throwing cards to the one hanging on
We rode the interstate looking for a single song
And held nothing but that weight behind our eyes
Where a man works there is identity
But we've been working way to long
What is identity when the spirit slowly dies
He came down from the Northwoods
And he was begging hard to roam
His family was a distant second prize
Any step toward uncertainty was one that was far away from home
His best intention at the root of every lie
Better days will come
Better days lie awake with the dawn
Better days will come
Throwing cards to the one hanging on
And in a low lit room of good conscious
My knees nail me to the floor
Every day that passed hangs its number on the wall
My eyes flood blind with memory as fear slithers neath the door
And the temptress holds indifference above all
And then She whispered to me words the were written long ago
And placed my hand to feel the rhythm neath her breast
And when she kissed me I leaned into her words like a child who aches to know
My reclamation through my voluntary yes
Better days will come
Better days lie awake with the sun
Better days will come
Throwing cards to the one hanging on