Some mornings I pray for evening,
For the day to be done.
Some summer days I hide away
And pray for rain to come.
It turns out hell will not be found
Within the fires below,
But in making do and muddling through
When you've nowhere else to go.
But then I remember you,
And the way you shine like truth in all you do.
And if you remembered me,
You could save me from the way I tend to be.


Frank Turner - The Way I tend to be