| Over there the row of trees is merging in with the evening
|
| And then blackness consumes the forest
|
| Within there lies a glade
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| And a flattened impression of the love that we made
|
| When I was young I used to watch TV
|
| Now people love to tell me it was all fantasy
|
| But they made it seem so real
|
| They made it seem so possible
|
| Don’t ask me to forget them because I won’t
|
| I’ll visit the glade and I’ll watch TV
|
| Is sustaining past illusion just insanity
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| When it makes me so much braver
|
| I can turn to the world and say
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| I’m strong enough to face the oncoming day
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| Sitting alone at night in my dark bedroom
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| Trying to explain myself in a song to you
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| When a weird burning shape from a headlight outside
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| Slid from the ceiling to behind the piano to hide
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| Then extinguished itself on the carpet and died
|
| The stars mingle inseperably
|
| With the lights of houses that I seen
|
| The shadows of the leaves on the walls shiver
|
| In a vivid twisted frame of grey
|
| From a streetlight outside, its time nearly expired
|
| To make way for the oncoming day
|
| No one
|
| No one
|
| No one can take your memory away from me
|
| Some days I say will I give in to the oncoming day
|
| The oncoming day
|
| I think of words to tell you
|
| I find nothing fine enough to say
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| Nothing worth anything, nothing worth nothing
|
| Nothing left in this lump of grey
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| That even vaguely says I love you, in a way that pleases me
|
| So I’ll let the oncoming day say it for me
|
| And in the days that followed
|
| In the back of my mind
|
| The black skies sunk on distant countries
|
| No one
|
| No one
|
| No one can take your memory away from me
|
| No way
|
| No way
|
| No way will I give in to the oncoming day
|
| The oncoming day |