On the verge of stealing the precious thing you're concealing,
Give the cup of grief to me,
Hey, I'll drink it to the dregs,
If your senses are reeling, you know that everything that rises must converge,
Simply, in a word, you will lay your burden down and walk away.

You're slipping through the cracks and, by the way, we all start out as castaways,
Thrown down coins on dusty floors,
Distraction - order of the day,
So you mine a deeper vein to try and even out the score,
What lies behind these suffering songs' - Yearning, well, for something more.

We're on the verge, oh,
We're on the verge,
Oh, oh, we're on the verge.

Fresh tar off the railroad ties bind us to that lonely route,
Keep the home fires burning if the ember's ever going out,
On the verge of stealing that river forded in great haste,
Give the cup of grief to me, but thirst is all that we can taste.

On the verge,
Oh,
On the verge, oh.

On the verge, oh,
We're on the verge.

On the verge.