| I’ll take another photograph
|
| Before the old one fades
|
| It reminds me of those things that past
|
| And quickly passed away
|
| But it comes on in the early night
|
| Creeping up on you
|
| Those scenes of devastation
|
| Crushing down on cue
|
| These days are growing colder now
|
| The light is growing dim
|
| August was a heavy month
|
| And now the nights are drawing in
|
| Poor Baby Blue’s wrapped up again
|
| Inside her final pain
|
| I’d help her if I could I say
|
| She puts us all to shame
|
| Alright, alright I know I’ve got a lot
|
| Left to answer for
|
| But am I the only one to blame
|
| And anyway who’s keeping score
|
| But the grass seems so much brighter now
|
| She’s spilled her blood again
|
| August was a heavy month
|
| Wash it down September rain
|
| Baby Blue picks up her life tonight
|
| And rushes for the Chelsea train
|
| All the stars shine down on her tonight
|
| And August was a heavy month
|
| The photograph is cracked and torn
|
| From being picked up, put down
|
| Like some holy relic
|
| Whose worshipers are found
|
| Searching through their sacred books
|
| For the holy grail of «why»
|
| But the total sum of knowledge
|
| Knows no more than you or I
|
| Alright, alright says Baby Blue
|
| Who doesn’t really understand
|
| August was a heavy month
|
| But winter came at last |