| Oh well, the rain it never stops here
|
| Is it strange that I no longer see the hand in front of my face?
|
| Just short of longing for the past
|
| And short of asking for forgiveness
|
| You read my palm and suggested that I find a new apartment
|
| All of our sleepless nights came crashing through the window
|
| Now you know
|
| What it means to fly
|
| Now you understand
|
| The witness' dull surprise
|
| My dear, just show me where it hurts
|
| And I’ll draw blood to make it better
|
| I will do anything
|
| Turns out the man with all the answers
|
| Wrote from within the asylum
|
| And I guess we should have figured as his poems contained no letters
|
| He wrote, «All of my sleepless nights came crashing through the window.»
|
| Now you know
|
| What it means to fly
|
| Now you understand
|
| With the tears and old acquaintances and waiting for the pulse to quicken
|
| Waiting for the day when things turn out as you had imagined, the wait
|
| And I had only just begun to speak with my broken memory
|
| Oh well, the rain it never stops here
|
| Is it strange that I no longer see the palm in front of my face? |