| When you get older and that novelty goes
|
| And all you can see is just a burned out candle
|
| Where there used to be flames
|
| There’s only absence smoking away
|
| All that art was made to be made
|
| And not to be kept by no one
|
| Not even the one who made it
|
| It’s full of the things that you said
|
| And forgotten that you could still say
|
| Every time by time
|
| I think I know what I’m talking about
|
| There are a million suns
|
| Not just the one you’re sitting under
|
| And there’s
|
| Nothing I can do about it
|
| There’s nothing I can do or say
|
| There’s nothing I can do about it
|
| Even if I could
|
| I’d only walk away
|
| When you get older and that novelty goes
|
| Of mixing up myths with music that uses hope
|
| To keep within despair
|
| You can make sure the bookshelves are alphabetical
|
| Poetical, non political
|
| Over a glass of Ricard at the Grey Cat Cafe
|
| Every time by time
|
| I think I know what I’m talking about
|
| Taking a breath was the only thing certain
|
| But even now that’s not so certain
|
| And there’s
|
| Nothing I can do about it
|
| There’s nothing I can do or say
|
| There’s nothing I can do about it
|
| Even if I could
|
| I’d only walk away
|
| And there’s
|
| Nothing I can do about it
|
| There’s nothing I can do or say
|
| There’s nothing I can do about it
|
| Even if I could
|
| I’d only walk away
|
| I’d only walk away |