Art Of Almost

I can’t be so far away from my wasteland
I’ll never know when I might ambulance
or hoist their hearts with my own hands
Almost… almost…

I heard a faint old age lover
I had other ways to help myself
By calling out, open up my heart and fall
And I blame it all on dust, the art of almost
Almost… almost…

I hold it up, shake the grade
Disobey across the waves, tomorrow
I have all the love I can ever ache
and I leave the most with you, art of almost
Almost… almost…