Text: Poor Old Lu. The Waiting Room.

:
She was staring at the ceiling
I was staring at the floor
He was fixed in thought and wonder of what lied behind the door

There was a man with little movement
I knew I'd seen him here before
The people with the children were sick to death and would wait no more

The world it can't be moving
It's been two thousand years or
Have I stopped breathing?
Have I stopped believing?
Believe me, I...

He must've talked for forever
I think they finally turned away
And I was thinking to myself I should have plenty more to say

And some were getting very restless
Some were filling up the days
I was hoping that the girl with the curl would be safe

The world it can't be moving
It?s been two thousand years or
Have I stopped breathing?
Have I stopped believing?
Believe me, I...
Just want to have the patience of a saint who waits at the gate
Please don't be late

The floors are giving in
The walls are getting thin
The clock is moving slow
My breathing comes and goes
The room is getting small
The sin is growing tall
We wait for the day
We wait for the day

The world it can't be moving
It's been two thousand years or
Have I stopped breathing?
Have I stopped believing?
Believe me, I...
Just want to have the patience of a saint who waits at the gate
Please don't be late

She was full of good intentions
I was full with all my greed
He was holding out his hands as if to give, as if to bleed

There was a man with little substance
I know I'd seen him here indeed
The people with the children spoke so soft to confess their need

And some are getting hopeless
Some are filling up the days
I am hoping on a promise, on a gift, and so I wait...