|
They are leaving now, |
|
To the sound of beating wings. |
|
To images of a scenery, |
|
A scenery whose colours, |
|
Have started to fade, |
|
And whose brightness is passing away. |
|
Left us nothing but cold, |
|
It's not just in the air, |
|
It's the gap between us. |
|
It's in our voices as we speak, |
|
In sentences that we say, |
|
In words once beautiful. |
|
Saw you found something new, |
|
Something that's more for real, |
|
Not as fragile as we used to be. |
|
But would you cross the line for me? |
|
For a second let your heart beat, |
|
The way it used to beat? |
|
The would the words get thir meaning back, |
|
The sentences their depth, |
|
Our voices their warmth, |
|
And your eyes would they once again, |
|
Burn as bright as they once did? |
|
Burn as if you were seventeen? |
|
They are leaving now, |
|
To the sound of beating wings. |
|
To images of a scenery, |
|
A scenery whose colours, |
|
Have started to fade. |
|
They are leaving now, |
|
Just like the easier days left us to die, |
|
Just like the loss of you, |
|
Left the scars that will always be a part of me. |
