| No more writing home
|
| Just to tell you what you’ve always known
|
| What you’ve always known
|
| Simply I’m alone
|
| A hundred miles north, where I belong
|
| Oh where I belong
|
| I’m always fighting with the thought that I could do more
|
| Than sit and wait and wonder when my life became a bore
|
| Some more
|
| An expert of the inside edges of my window
|
| Never seen a coast or even where the wind goes
|
| I’m not asking you to hurry up and wait
|
| But if you live a life in letters you might never really feel alive
|
| You might never really feel alive
|
| You might never really feel alive
|
| Whisper to me slow
|
| Give me a chance to hear the voice I barely know
|
| That I barely know
|
| Soon you’ll have to go
|
| From 7A to pens, just to say hello
|
| Just to say hello
|
| I’m always fighting with the thought that I could do more
|
| Than sit and wait and wonder when my life became a bore
|
| Some more
|
| An expert of the inside edges of my window
|
| Never seen a coast or even where the wind goes
|
| I’m not asking you to hurry up and wait
|
| But if you live a life in letters you might never really feel alive
|
| You might never really feel alive
|
| You might never really feel alive
|
| You might never really feel alive
|
| You might never really feel alive
|
| You might never really feel alive
|
| You might never really feel alive
|
| You might never really feel alive |