Poets of the FallWhere do we draw the line

On your palm an endless wonder:
Lines that speak the truth without a sound.
In your eyes awaits the tireless hunger,
Already looks for prey to run down.
So why do we keep up this charade?
And how do we tell apart the time to leave
From the time to wait?
What does tomorrow want from me,
What does it matter what I see,
If it can't be my design,
Tell me where do we draw the line.
Tell me where do we draw the line...
The dance of flames and shadows in the street
Make poetry nobody's ever heard.
The weight of loneliness stands on your feet,
The cage already there around the bird.
So why don't we join the masquerade
Before it falls apart
Before our love becomes insatiate
What does tomorrow want from me?
What does it matter what I see?
If I can't choose my own design,
Tell me where do we draw the line.
What does tomorrow want from me?
What does it matter what I see?
If we all walk behind the blind,
Tell me where do we draw the line.
Tell me where do we draw the line...
Where's the cooling wind?
Where's the evergreen field?
Where's my mother's open arms?
Where's my father lionheart?
S'like the sun's gone down.
Sleeps in the hallowed ground now
With the autumn's browns leaves,
With the one who never grieves.
So why do we keep up this charade?
And how do we tell apart the time to leave
From the time to wait?
What does tomorrow want from me?
What does it matter what I see?
If it can't be my design,
Tell me where do we draw the line.
Whatever tomorrow wants from me,
At least I'm here, at least I'm free,
Free to choose to see the sign.
This is my line.