Tug - The History Of Apple Pie

We are lost in our own world

In these long, whirlwind hours

Now that you feel less afraid

We can play our reckless games

Close your eyes and count to ten

We can be like kids again

And I ride — you find me

And it don’t surprise me

Let’s sit close

And tug the grass beneath our feet

We are lost in our own constellation

In the tiny, evening hours

Now that you feel less ashamed

We can say all that’s left to say

We are lost in our own hesitation

In the endless, winding hours

Now that you feel less confused

We can be who we want to be