The Winds of Self-Respect blow and gust,
Whispering my own words back too me.
"God, I'm a hypocrite."
Always dancing the razor edge of love and lust.
This doesn't let you off a bit.
You're the same as me, my friend of sometimes.
Will these crimes be the death of all that's good?
And the lines of me, in a hurricane breeze,
Blown from good, to misunderstood.

So we fan the flames, as they lick from house to house,
And the embers torture our city by the sea.

Can't you see?
It's the sea.
It's what you wanted for you and me.
But the water is white,
And the sky is grey,
And this black smoke cloud, suffers the day.

If our city's gone,
Can we hold on,
And tread through this murky grey slate?
What I saw in a dream,
What a beautiful day,
Will it be there if we only wait?
Will we succumb to the pain,
Slip under the wave,
Look for calmness, there underneath?
Would we stay away,
From the wind and the rain,
Where the fires could never reach?

No.  By God, I'll swim.

To the ends of the Earth if I have to.
To the depths of my dreams if I can.
I'll make a sail and name it respectful,
And the winds will bring me to land.
And the ruins of people and lifetimes,
Now a pale, ashen paste, from the rain.  
I'll dry them with the sunshine of mem'ry,
So the winds may carry them again.

But my friend of sometimes, did he sink or swim?
His wake leaves lines, but no signal is grim.
Perhaps he has gone to a place underneath,
And built himself a city, that's under the sea.
To start something fresh, far engulfed by the rain
With plenty of salt, to remind of the pain.
Of the hope that was lost, and the dreams never seen.
Of the breeze, by our sparkling city by the sea.