| A tiny flame inside my hand
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| A compromise I never planned
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| Unravel out the finer strands
|
| And I’m looking at a blank page now
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| Should I fill it up with words somehow?
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| I whispered something in her ear
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| I bare my soul but she don’t hear
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| The scratching of a mellotron it always seemed to make her cry
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| Well maybe she remembers us collecting space up in the sky
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| Nothing rises from my feet of clay, but it’s OK
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| Red mist spreads across my fingertips, ardour slips
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| I lay her gently on my clothes
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| She will leave me yes I know
|
| And I’m looking at a blank page now
|
| Should I fill it up with words somehow?
|
| The scratching of a mellotron it always seemed to make her cry
|
| Well maybe she remembers us collecting space up in the sky
|
| Nothing rises from my feet of clay, but it’s OK
|
| Red mist spreads across my fingertips, ardour slips
|
| Don’t look at me with your mother’s eyes or your killer smile
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| Sing a lullaby |