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I Will, I Swear
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Strings of Gold
There were always, thousand hands, beneath your feet
and while they hold you, you dance quietly to the beat.
The dance for sacred, hold on tight, when murderers call
and they weep because you're young and free to fall.
But the hardest bit of lying is to keep your mouth shut, about presents that will wait beneath your feet.
The hardest bit 'bout growing up is this cold,
we hold on tight.
But dear, don't go now, you'll know now, how to fold,
we hold on tight.
The hardest bit 'bout growing up is this cold,
we hold on tight.
No words are sacred tied up on strings of gold,
we hold on tight.
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They were old but they were smart and knew more
more than a solo riding mind on the streets.
The drive for sacred - hold on tight 'cause murderers call
and they sleep cause they don't go where you won't fall.
The hardest bit 'bout growing up is this cold,
we hold on tight.
But dear, don't go now, you'll know now, how to fold,
we hold on tight.
The hardest bit 'bout growing up is this cold,
we hold on tight.
No words are sacred tied up on strings of gold,
we hold on tight.
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