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Chances are we are the same
Against the odds, against the grain
We lean, like gardens toward light,
But we wait, like evening for night,
Don’t we?

Chances are we are alike
Against what better judgement writes
We ache like children for love,
For a purpose worthy of
Such a noble aim,
Such a noble aim,
Such a noble aim as love.

Chances are we bruise the same
A family tree desperate for rain.
A thirst only deserts know best.
A hurt so at home in our chests.
Call it stubbornness or bravery,
To let our branches continue to reach,
With such a noble aim,
With such a noble aim,
With such a noble aim as love.

Every broken branch and loosened leaf
That we’ve grown to ignore,
Is now a part of something greater than before.
Every nest that rests upon our limbs,
Seeking shelter from the storms,
Is a purpose worth being broken for.

Chances are we are the same
Against the odds, against the grain
We lean, like gardens toward light.
We reach with all of our might
For such a noble aim as love.

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