| They even looked at each other once
|
| Across a crowded bar
|
| He was with Martha
|
| She was with Tom
|
| Neither of them really knew what was going on.
|
| A strange feeling of never,
|
| Heartbeats becoming synchronized
|
| And staying that way forever.
|
| Most of the time
|
| It was just near misses,
|
| Air kisses
|
| Once in a bookstore, once at a party
|
| She came in as he was leaving
|
| And years ago, at the movies, she sat behind him
|
| A six-thirty showing of 'While You Were Sleeping'
|
| He never once looked around
|
| It’s so easy from above
|
| You can really see it all
|
| People who belong together
|
| Lost and sad and small
|
| But there’s nothing to be done for them
|
| It doesn’t work that way
|
| Sure we all have soulmates
|
| But we walk past them every day
|
| Oh no And it’s not like they were ever actually unhappy
|
| In the lives they lived
|
| He married Martha
|
| She married Tom
|
| Just this vague notion that something was wrong
|
| An ache, an absence, a phantom limb
|
| An itch that could never be scratched.
|
| It’s so easy from above
|
| You can really see it all
|
| People who belong together
|
| Lost and sad and small
|
| But there’s nothing to be done for them
|
| It doesn’t work that way
|
| Sure we all have soulmates
|
| But we walk past them every day
|
| Oh no Neither of them knew what was going on A strange feeling of never,
|
| Heartbeats becoming synchronized
|
| And staying that way forever.
|
| Who knows whether that’s how it should be Maybe our ghosts live in that vacancy
|
| Maybe that’s how books get written
|
| Maybe that’s why songs get sung
|
| Maybe we owe the unlucky ones
|
| It’s so easy from above
|
| You can really see it all
|
| People who belong together
|
| Lost and sad and small
|
| But there’s nothing to be done for them
|
| It doesn’t work that way
|
| Sure we all have soulmates
|
| But we walk past them every day
|
| Oh no Maybe that’s how books get written
|
| Maybe that’s why songs get sung
|
| Maybe we owe the unlucky ones
|
| Maybe that’s how books get written
|
| Maybe that’s why songs get sung
|
| Maybe we owe the unlucky ones |