| I wish I’d see a field below
|
| I wish I’d hear a rooster crow
|
| But there are none who live downtown
|
| And so the day starts out so slow
|
| Again the sun was never called
|
| And darkness spreads over the snow
|
| Like ancient bruises
|
| I’m awake and feel the ache
|
| But I wish I’d see a field below
|
| I wish I’d see a field below
|
| I wish I’d see your face below
|
| I wish I’d hear you whispering low
|
| But you don’t live downtown no more
|
| And everything must come and go
|
| Again the sun was never called
|
| And darkness spreads over the snow
|
| Like ancient bruises
|
| I’m awake and feel the ache
|
| I’m awake and feel the ache
|
| But I wish I’d see a field below
|
| But I wish I’d see a field below
|
| I’m awake and feel the ache
|
| Oh, but I wish I’d see a field below
|
| I’m awake and feel the ache
|
| Oh, but I wish I’d see a field below
|
| I wish I’d see a field below
|
| I wish I’d see a field below |