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Oh well, the rain it never stops here |
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Is it strange that |
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I no longer see the hand in front of my face? |
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Just short of longing for the past |
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And short of asking for forgiveness |
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You read my palm and suggested that |
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I find a new apartment |
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All of our sleepless nights came crashing through the window |
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Now you know |
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What it means to fly |
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Now you understand |
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The witness' dull surprise |
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My dear, just show me where it hurts |
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And I'll draw blood to make it better, |
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I will do anything. |
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Turns out the man with all the answers |
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Wrote from within the asylum |
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And I guess we should have figured as his poems contained no letters |
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He wrote, "All of my sleepless nights came crashing through the window." |
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Now you know |
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What it means to fly |
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Now you understand |
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With the tears and old acquaintances and waiting for the pulse to quicken,waiting for the day when things turn out as you had imagined, the wait |
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And I had only just begun to speak with my broken memory |
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Oh well, the rain it never stops here |
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Is it strange that |
|
I no longer see the palm in front of my face? |
