| Heavens above, I’ve seen this before
|
| But no medicine I choose to use
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| Can cure this disease I abhor
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| And excuse me please, I need some air
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| And some relief from these cackling foos
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| And this sticky affair
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| Heavens above, we’re all going to die
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| Scientists predict an inevitable assault from the sky
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| The craters they leave, will become the sea
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| And quietly the past is erased to wipe this dirty slate clean
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| But these songs I sing, are not my own
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| They get projected from you into me
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| I just give them a home
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| And this joy I feel, is yours' alone
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| If I could pass it to you through my fingertips
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| Then you would know
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| That I love you
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| And look at you now
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| It won’t be long
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| No maths or magic can save you
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| If you can’t see wrong
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| If you can’t see right
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| You turn your back on
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| That which was once what you craved now you’re cowering from
|
| But these songs I sing, are not my own
|
| They get projected from you into me
|
| I just give them a home
|
| And this joy I feel, is yours' alone
|
| If I could pass it to you through my fingertips
|
| Then you would know
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| That I love you |