First you shake it then you tear it apart.
Feed it fearful of hope and despair.
Then you starve it and you leave it alone.
'Til all your impressions are sketched out in stone.

It's not too late for the battle-scarred.
Stranger homes for a stranger's heart.

"And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery.
If a bird with broken neck can fly away."

Then it's not too late for the battle-scarred.
Here's your parade and your tinfoil stars.

It's not too late for the battle-scarred.
Stranger homes for a stranger's heart.
It's not too late for the battle-scarred.
Here's your parade...