| There was a man that knew too much
|
| With a panic attic mind but a chance to numb
|
| His golden touch to ignore the will of time
|
| Had me struck down open to the fact
|
| I was standing in a line with a broken occupation on my back
|
| Time is not a moment we’re letting slip away
|
| There’s nothing left to say it’s changing every day
|
| The way I’m thinking in different shades of grey
|
| It’s not enough to say that this is my love
|
| He had the anti midas touch
|
| Temporary state of mind
|
| But a chance to die enhances growth
|
| Now I’m trembling all the time
|
| Stumble round making faces on the scene
|
| Scene what what
|
| Stumble round make your faces on your own
|
| Time is not a moment we’re letting slip away
|
| There’s nothing left to say it’s changing every day
|
| The way I’m thinking in different shades of grey
|
| It’s not enough to say that this is my love
|
| I’m not your mocking bird
|
| That sings your cellar song
|
| She got a paper run
|
| You’re compensated
|
| Can we all gather round on the scene
|
| Can we all move around on our own
|
| Are ya a mover shaker all alone
|
| Time is not a moment we’re letting slip away
|
| There’s nothing left to say it’s changing every day
|
| The way I’m thinking in different shades of grey
|
| It’s not enough to say
|
| Time is not a moment we’re letting slip away
|
| There’s nothing left to say but this is my love
|
| I’m not your mocking bird
|
| That sings your cellar song
|
| She got a paper run to write your letters wrong |