'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.'