| Black flies on the windowsill
|
| That we are
|
| That we are
|
| That we are to know
|
| Winter stole summer’s thrill
|
| And the river’s cracked and cold
|
| See the sky is no man’s land
|
| A darkened plume to stay
|
| Hope here needs a humble hand
|
| Not a fox found in your place
|
| No man is an island, this i know
|
| But can’t you see or???
|
| Or maybe you were the ocean, when i was just a stone
|
| Black flies on the windowsill
|
| That we are
|
| That we are
|
| That we are to hold
|
| Comfort came against my will
|
| And every story must grow old
|
| Still I’ll be a traveller
|
| A gypsy’s reins to face
|
| But the road is wearier
|
| With that fool found in your place
|
| No man is an island, this I know
|
| But can’t you see or???
|
| Or maybe you were the ocean, when i was just a stone
|
| No man is an island, this I know
|
| But can’t you see or???
|
| Or maybe you were the ocean, when i was just a stone
|
| So here we are
|
| Oooooo, oooooo, oooooo
|
| And I don’t wanna beg your pardon
|
| And I don’t wanna ask you why
|
| But if I was to go my own way
|
| Would I have to pass you by?
|
| And I don’t wanna beg your pardon
|
| And I don’t wanna ask you why
|
| But if I was to go my own way
|
| Would I have to pass you by?
|
| Oooooo, oooooo, oooooo |