|
My telephone rang, I was too late |
|
Why did I stop to hesitate on my way home? |
|
Take my hands, let me confess |
|
'Bout loving and hating and all of the rest |
|
And ideas I've roamed |
|
Then I saw a brilliant sign |
|
And let it slip behind |
|
And search again |
|
And find I'm blind |
|
My thoughts they make a tender smile |
|
My hands they move and in a while |
|
I've got what I want |
|
That tenderness that you insist you feel |
|
Ain't worth a damn 'cause it ain't real |
|
Lord, it sure does haunt |
|
Then you saw a brilliant sign |
|
And let it slip behind |
|
And search again |
|
And find you're blind |
|
See me in a lonely Sunday |
|
If you've got the time |
|
And don't surprise me |
|
Or you'll find that I'm completely blind |
|
Now I'm so sick of what's being said |
|
My thoughts they burn inside my head |
|
There's not much untouched |
|
All of my children begin to cry |
|
They clutch at me demanding why |
|
Tell 'em 'bout loving and such |
|
Then they saw a brilliant sign |
|
And let it slip behind |
|
And search again |
|
And find they're blind |
|
See them in a lonely Sunday |
|
If you've got the time |
|
And don't surprise them or you'll find |
|
That they're completely blind |
|
That they're completely blind |