| I’m sorry for the nostalgia
|
| But there ain’t no metaphor
|
| And besides it ends up vacant
|
| When you circumvent the door
|
| Oh, I don’t dispute we were younger
|
| When the film contrast was deep
|
| And we leapt over the quicksand
|
| And we couldn’t get to sleep
|
| But time rolls on
|
| Yeah, time rolls on
|
| And you moved on
|
| How can I move on?
|
| It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s not that it’s a ruse
|
| It’s not that there’s an ego that wants to bruised
|
| It’s rather there’s a song that wants to be sung
|
| And the notes are all there, but they can’t be strung
|
| Together there’s a picture like an oil painting
|
| That takes up the whole wall from another century
|
| But separate they’re the colors, each in their own can
|
| Sittin' on shelves or in other people’s hands
|
| Imagine all the weddings
|
| Imagine all the proms
|
| The Windsor knots and ruffles
|
| The glitter gowns in waltz
|
| I watch them in my head like
|
| Oh, I was there, but not
|
| Could it be we’re some kind of ghosts, yeah?
|
| Like we’re haunting all the living folks?
|
| Yeah, we can’t move on
|
| Yeah, we can’t move on
|
| No, we can’t move on
|
| Yeah, we can’t move on
|
| I’m happy
|
| But I miss you
|
| I’m happy
|
| Yeah, I promise you
|
| I’m happy
|
| But I miss you
|
| I’m happy
|
| Yeah, I promise you
|
| I’m happy
|
| But I miss you
|
| I’m happy
|
| Yeah, I promise you
|
| I’m happy
|
| But I miss you
|
| I’m happy
|
| Yeah, I promise you |