| It’s two o’clock on the edge of the morning
|
| She’s running magical circles around my head
|
| I hitch a ride on a dream she’s driving
|
| She turns to kiss me, I crash back into bed
|
| Across the street on a grayed out Monday
|
| I see the girl with the eyes I can’t describe
|
| And suddenly it’s a perfect Sunday
|
| And everything is more real than life
|
| I think I’m back in the dream
|
| I think I’m back on the ceiling
|
| It’s such a beautiful feeling
|
| Going up
|
| She lights me up
|
| She breaks me up
|
| She lifts me up
|
| You find a mystery bound in perfection
|
| You’ve got to read, but you don’t wanna reach the end
|
| 'Cause what if everything beautiful’s fiction
|
| And this reality’s just pretend?
|
| And then I’m back in the dream
|
| I’m looking up at the ceiling
|
| It’s such a beautiful feeling
|
| Going up
|
| She lights me up
|
| She breaks me up
|
| She lifts me up
|
| Up to the stars she shows me
|
| Dame Street, George’s Street, miles below me
|
| Up where the world won’t let us down
|
| (Na, na, na, na)
|
| Going up
|
| (It's two o’clock on the edge of the morning)
|
| She lights me up
|
| (She's running magical circles around my head)
|
| She breaks me up
|
| (I hitch a ride on a dream she’s driving)
|
| She lifts me up |