| Knock so I’ll know you’re still there
|
| Half listening, interpreting the air
|
| Full of failing foreign tongue
|
| My dialect of stammer come undone
|
| I’ve got these threads of you and I
|
| I use to tie my doubts down
|
| And from four time-zones away
|
| Still yesterday, still talking to the past
|
| From the front seat of your car
|
| Gravel road and falling
|
| Falling hands and falling stars
|
| Start the engine up
|
| I’d like a new identity
|
| A pseudonym, some plastic surgery
|
| Or just a way to disappear
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| Someone to write me out of here
|
| I hear you hum an unfamiliar song
|
| Thought maybe you would come along
|
| Perhaps you’d like to see
|
| Some piece of this, my new philosophy is that a
|
| Crappy tape deck somewhere
|
| Plays a greatest hits collection
|
| Of strange and tender moments lost
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| Stranded, and forgotten
|
| I’ll meet you there
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| Something I forgot to say
|
| Can’t find a way to make this mark more clear
|
| So crack your skull before you weep
|
| And I’ll try to keep some part of me sincere |