| I find the map and draw a straight line
|
| Over rivers, farms and state lines
|
| The distance from here to where you'd be
|
| It's only finger-lengths that I see
|
| I touch the place
|
| Where I'd find your face
|
| My fingers increases
|
| Of distant dark places
|
| I hang my coat up in the first bar
|
| There is no peace that I've found so far
|
| The laughter penetrates my silence
|
| As drunken men find flaws in science
|
| Their word's mostly noises
|
| Ghosts with just voices
|
| Your words in my memory
|
| Are like music to me
|
| I'm miles from where you are
|
| I lay down on the cold ground
|
| I, I pray that something picks me up
|
| And sets me down in your warm arms
|
| After I have traveled so far
|
| We'd set the fire to the third bar
|
| We'd share each other like an island
|
| Until exhausted, close our eyelids
|
| And dreaming, pick up from
|
| The last place we left off
|
| Your soft skin is weeping
|
| A joy you can't keep in
|
| I'm miles from where you are
|
| I lay down on the cold ground
|
| And I, I pray that something picks me up
|
| And sets me down in your warm arms
|
| And miles from where you are
|
| I lay down on the cold ground
|
| And I, I pray that something picks me up
|
| And sets me down in your warm arms |