View by Blues Traveler
Tranquility can end in all it's forms
And disaster can rule the day
I'm sitting in the center of hell
And I yearn to strike the match
And seldom surprised, the damned and cursed
The plans of mice and men
As he's walking out the door with a crowbar
I can hear him as he pries the latch
And the view of the light at the end of the tunnel
Makes me see more that I want to
The finish line's promise so far away
Still remains to get through
Wishing ever skyward, all I seem to see are circling hawks
Once fledglings turned to eagles, I regret having ever, ever urged them on
And all at once a voice reminds me
That salvation comes only to the brave
But the voice is growing fainter as desperately I search
And search for some small glimpse of dawn
And the view of the light at the end of the tunnel
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