| It was getting late
|
| You were afraid of yourself
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| Afraid that you might call her
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| That you could not help yourself
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| And what could I say?
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| It lived in you all day
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| I watched her in your eyes
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| And pass across your face
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| Like the wind on the water
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| I tried to tell you
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| That is the way that you want her
|
| I tried to tell you
|
| You were so afraid to try and pull apart
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| The endless rain you thought of as your heart
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| With blood on your hands from the river inside
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| You try to deny it, you never felt the tide
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| Of the moon pulling closer
|
| I tried to tell you
|
| That is the way that you want her
|
| I tried to tell you
|
| Like the wind on the water
|
| I will not help you not to feel
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| To tell yourself it was not real
|
| And only fools believe
|
| This is what the songs are for
|
| This is the dirt beneath the floor
|
| I cannot sell you on your own need
|
| Some days there might be nothing you encounter
|
| To stand behind the fragile idea that anything matters
|
| I feel as useless as a tree in a city park
|
| Standing as a symbol of what we have blown apart
|
| You know you break what you treasure
|
| I tried to tell you
|
| But I’m not sure you remember
|
| So I tried to tell you
|
| And though it cannot be measured
|
| I tried to tell you
|
| Would it kill you to believe in your pleasure?
|
| I tried to tell you |