| Where’s the word for the sadness
|
| Where’s the poetry in the pain
|
| Where’s the colour in the stain
|
| Where the tears have fallen
|
| It’s gone, it’s just gone
|
| Where’s the method to this madness
|
| As we create this suffering
|
| And we do each other in
|
| And we still hold on
|
| But it’s gone, it’s just gone
|
| He says it’s gone
|
| And he can’t go on a living a memory
|
| Mulling it over endlessly
|
| Why is that so hard for me to see?
|
| He says it’s gone
|
| And he can’t go on trying to live a lie
|
| And when he cries
|
| I know it’s over but I may never know why
|
| There’s no face in the locket
|
| There’s no place for the past
|
| I’ll put it back in my pocket
|
| It was never meant to last
|
| It’s just gone
|
| He says it’s gone
|
| And he can’t go on a living a memory
|
| Mulling it over endlessly
|
| Why is that so hard for me to see?
|
| He says it’s gone
|
| And he can’t go on trying to live a lie
|
| And when he cries
|
| I know it’s over but I may never know why
|
| There’s no word for the sadness
|
| There’s no poetry in the pain
|
| There’s no colour in the stain
|
| Where the tears have fallen
|
| It’s gone, it’s just gone
|
| It’s gone, it’s just gone
|
| Well, it’s gone |