What are the chances?
What are the chances that I met you,
living in a world colored in blue.
I have no authority over my heart,
only an image of us that has been torn apart.
The blue has bled into all of my clothes,
giving me nothing but migraines and drives on empty roads.
What are the chances that we are both here,
in this world that breeds nothing but fear.
Fear and loneliness push us around,
but I have no where to look now except the ground.
Statistically we have beat the odds,
based on the probability of us being here at all.
What are the chances that I ever move on,
I guess it doesn't matter because it's the end of the song.