| Maybe there’s a heart
|
| Slowly beating for you in the dark
|
| That casts a sturdy sound
|
| Slowly lifting out above the ground
|
| But it’s not mine this time — this time
|
| No, it’s not mine this time — this time
|
| Maybe there’s a man
|
| That’s holding out, love, his undying hand
|
| With a warmth, a loving spark
|
| To pull you out, away, love, from the dark
|
| But oh, my love, I am the winter, and my arms are cold
|
| And, dear, my gale breaks us to splinters, and my wake is bold
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| The things I gave to take, the hearts I loved to break
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| The words that slowly fade to nothing, to nothing
|
| To nothing, to nothing…
|
| So maybe there’s a heart
|
| Slowly beating for you in the dark
|
| But it’s not mine this time — this time
|
| No, it’s not mine this time — this time |