There are days when it is hard to locate a port in the storm. On rare days, there is no storm at all. Most of the time, I drop anchor and weather the winds.
Even though we are tossed about
Just trying to hang on
We got no ritual, no routine
No port in that storm
I look up at the sky
And the stars still shine
And I am confident we’ll find
I am sure that we
We’re gonna find
We will find our way
We’ll find our way
Again
Bleeding Time is five years old this year.