I believe that we'll come out of this with a healing compassion or a scarring bitterness,
Don't revive painful times, let them rest,
Don't drag a net through the sea of forgetfulness.

The cut was deep, the blood was warm; I can't deny what it's done,
If we don't release the past, we'll slap the face of the days to come,
Whoa, the days to come,
Whoa, the days to come.

There's a hand at the door refusing to leave; its pulse is throbbing, its heart on its sleeve,
It's a new tomorrow waiting to be received by somebody ready, and willing to believe.

The cut was deep, the blood was warm; I can't deny what it's done,
But if we don't release the past, we'll slap the face of the days to come,
Whoa, the days to come,
Whoa, the days to come.

Remember this melody, don't ever let it go away,
Sing it to your heart day after day, after day.

The cut was deep, the blood was warm; I can't deny what it's done,
But if we don't release the past, we'll slap the face of the days to come,
Whoa, the days to come,
Whoa, the days to come,
Whoa, the days to come,
Whoa, the days to come.