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The Dwelling of Hope (For slow guitar - version.4) I thought my hope was a handful of change, A bed in a room that don’t feel too strange. Dinner once a week, maybe catch a show— A little peace and quiet, then back on the go. I figured it’s learning, a book and a plan, Selling my thoughts like a traveling man. Holding her hand down a worn-out street— Dust on my shoes and tired old feet. But where is my hope, where does it lie? Under the stars or the colorless sky? We say it’s here, just to get through the day, But nobody knows and nobody’ll say. The noise is gone, and the march moves on, We’re left with the hours, the fire’s all gone. Faces like stone, eyes looking through— Each one hoping the next knows what to do. Still maybe—just maybe—it flows down below, Beneath all this ice where the cold rivers go. It ain’t in the melt, it ain’t in the thaw, But deep in the current, beyond what we saw. Yeah maybe it’s there, in a flickering light, A warm cup of coffee, a bed for the night, A whi...