Pilots and Paper Planes

With contrite hearts on the blackest of days We've done our deeds but now we have to pay The social call; the presidents not home The gossip line we never would have known I awoke to the sound of singing in the streets [x2] The sorrow fell like the s

Into the fray we can't jump to conclusions For we are not what it seems like Give me your hand, give me your hand I came to you you promised me that you were on just a temporary phase sheets in the wind no harm at all No blood, no foul But now you're