Dear believer, come sing us a song like we sang upon, younger days
when the world was good and heavy on our shoulders as a child
‘fore we let it all go to waste.
Paradise, has its hunter call me blind, call me fool, I don’t mind chasing thunder
I say reaching for Heaven is what I’m on earth to do.
Maybe reaching for Heaven is what I’m on earth to do.
– Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros