|
I am walking out in the rain |
|
And I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again |
|
And I am getting nowhere with you |
|
And I can't let it go and |
|
I can't get through |
|
The old woman behind the pink curtains |
|
And the closed door on the first floor |
|
She's listening through the air shaft |
|
To see how long our swan song can last |
|
And both hands, now use both hands |
|
Oh, no don't close your eyes |
|
I am writing graffiti on your body |
|
I am drawing the story of how hard we tried |
|
How hard we tried |
|
I am watching your chest rise and fall |
|
Like the tides of my life and the rest of it all |
|
And your bones have been my bed frame |
|
And your flesh has been my pillow |
|
I've been waiting for sleep to offer up the deep with both hands |
|
Ahh, both hands |
|
In each other's shadows we grew less and less tall |
|
And eventually our theories couldn't explain it all |
|
And I'm recording our history now on the bedroom wall |
|
And eventually the landlord will come and paint over it all |
|
And I am walking out in the rain |
|
And I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again |
|
And I am getting nowhere with you and |
|
I can't let it go |
|
And I can't get through |
|
Both hands, now use both hands |
|
Oh, no don't close your eyes |
|
I am writing graffiti on your body |
|
I am drawing the story of how hard we tried |
|
How hard we tried, how hard we tried |