Hang your hopes on a hopeless thing,
And the hopeless thing will fall.
For the hopeless thing wasn't made to hold,
Or even to stand at all.
Give your love to the wandering man,
And the wandering man will leave.
For the wandering man was made to walk,
Not to sit, not to wait, not to grieve.
Bare your soul to a polished stone,
And the stone cannot return.
For a stone wasn't made to love, or to feel;
When you go, know the stone won't yearn.
But hang your heart where your heart belongs,
In the chest of someone true,
And he'll cut his own from his ribcage bones,
And he'll give it back to you.