| Monica’s light’s become a falling star
|
| And so it follows, you’re nothing to her
|
| She just forgets that you are
|
| You’re growing fainter
|
| Monica’s light has returned
|
| To the source of its nature
|
| You’re emotionally divorced
|
| From what you think of her
|
| And what she’s after
|
| I know
|
| But I won’t tell her so
|
| I know
|
| But I won’t tell a soul
|
| What I know
|
| Monica’s light
|
| Was given away to a stranger
|
| It was abstract it was insignificant
|
| So Monica’s light returned
|
| To the source of its nature
|
| She’s got sixty separate movements
|
| For each hour
|
| I know
|
| But I won’t tell her so
|
| I know
|
| But I won’t tell a soul
|
| What I know |