| It was seven in the morning when the spark
|
| Began to give
|
| The bath was spilling over, my self pity spilling with it
|
| So I, I fled the country to start it all again
|
| And I found myself in Paris in the cemetery rain
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| Dear anne came to me and took me by the arm
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| Showed me old disasters embedded in the palm
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| Warned me of a lady with the sun behind her head
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| With a a granite neck, a singer who can never sing again
|
| But you, my love:
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| You must come, come to joy, turn your head to the sun
|
| Its down to you, you can shine
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| You can shake all the sorrow from your palm.
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| It’s down to you if you dare to come to joy
|
| What was it i ran from, what burnt away inside?
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| Four hundred schoolboys and a lawyer at my side
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| Always running with these legs going nowhere
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| A ghost in the system, and angel on the stairs…
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| But oh! |
| This time…
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| I shall turn, turn my head to the sun.
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| They are marching out of me. |
| One by one
|
| Walking free. |
| Oh! |
| It’s going out of…
|
| Oh! |
| I can feel it moving, this time, yeah. |
| I’m really moving
|
| Now, are you ready to come, come to joy
|
| Turn your head to the sun it’s down to you, you can shine, you can give it up
|
| It’s all down to you, hold the key in your hands, it’s all in your hands
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| It’s all in the palm of your hands. |
| (x4) |