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.