Hold your breath and count to 28
Change is slow, but I feel it taking shape
Folding over us like waves on origami ocean tides, we sway

Blueprints constantly being arranged
Over microscopes we plan and strain
The finest print in the whitest ink
Before it dries, there's no time to think
It feels like everything we've known is sink or swim

But grey is not a compromise, it is the bridge between two sides
I would even argue that it is the color that most represents God's eyes

Hold your breath and count to 29
Connect the dots and cherish every line
Paper cuts and trails aside, make a wish and hold it tight
This time, we'll try our very hardest not to try

'Cause grey is not a compromise, it is the bridge between two sides
The shores on which our stubborn land and restless seas collide
Grey is not just middle ground, it is a truce that waits to be signed
I would even argue that, from where we stand
It most represents the color of God's eyes

We fold our atlas into paper planes
Change is slow, but I feel it taking shape

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