Under the stairs, behind the neon lamp, the chaps are thinking.
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She does not care to sit and stare, her blood eyes blinking.
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She works forever, each and every day,
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And she's reminded of every small mistake,
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And she's descended from a long-forgotten race.
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And so she walks all of her precious trails the wrong direction.
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She does not talk, but rather reccommends with good intentions.
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She walks forever, at an even pace,
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And she remembers every last detail
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And she's been counted every single way.
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She says "A hundred million people could be wrong.
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A hundred million people could be wrong.
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A hundred million people have been wrong before.
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A hundred million people could be wrong."
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And we could wait for him to make just one slight wrong move.
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It is a shame when he falls away (?) with just one slight wrong move.
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And we work forever each and every day and we surrender anyway
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In so many different ways.
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We said "A hundred million people can be wrong.
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A hundred million people could be wrong.
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A hundred million people could be wrong.
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A hundred million people have been wrong before.
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A hundred million people could be wrong."
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-----------------
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One Slight Wrong Move
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| Archers of Loaf |
