We All Come Around by Least of These

Mere Image by Least of These

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We All Come Around
by Least of These

Album: Mere Image

Oh the lamps, the ones that burn so bright; How they shine. Tell me which oil's right. Who owns the lamps and will know just how they'll burn? I've made them mine; I should get a turn. Time can move both fast and slow but it has a mind of its own. Whatever speed I hope it will choose is never the one it wants to use.

We all come around

And if I serve two masters, how will I know which one is in my heart while the other is on my shoulder?