When one thing ends where do I go?
Sitting on the back porch looking out at the snow
I see a solitary red light glow
I guess my dad smokes
And there may be no grace in death
But there sure is grace in the way you danced with me at the Union Tea
It's ok that you're always looking for more light
How do I know what I was meant for?
My hands have been changing slowly, but surely
Into things not meant to create, and I stand by
And I stand by
How do I know what I was meant for?
How do I know what I was meant for?

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