Text: William Elliott Whitmore. Sometimes Our Dreams Float Like Anchors.

And the hammer swings high and comes down hard
Drive another nail into my coffin lid
And as the days go by if I can play my part
Well I'll feel no remorse for what I did

Your mother would cry if she only could
But those days are gone, those days are gone
And she always tried to see the good in everything that you done

And sometimes our dreams they float like anchors in hopeless waters oh way down here
Sometimes it seems that all that matters most are all the things that you can't keep

Oh, the skin, Oh, the skin
That this old world has placed me in
I can't wait to shed, I can't wait to shed
Lord I'll be free when I'm dead