We sat by ourselves, still looking for company;
|
there could have been peace, but that eluded me -
|
all I could think of was what was on my mind.
|
You tried to be kind,
|
but I blocked your feelings.
|
Now, senses still reeling, you sit in your quiet room and cry.
|
You tried to make me one,
|
but I always hide when there's a glimpse of sun.
|
|
Running along in sunlight meadows,
|
your eyes were never more than half-closed:
|
through fluttering lashes, you watched me watching you.
|
I tried to be true
|
to the way that you thought I ought to be
|
but, in spite of all my efforts,
|
I failed.
|
I tried to make you see
|
but your eyes are blind to all but the bad in me.
|
|
What do you think I mean
|
when I say that I need you?
|
How am I supposed to seem
|
when we hit another problem
|
and the answers are all torn from my book?
|
|
Our lives are on paths we just can't control;
|
we can grow closer as we get old.
|
Can you imagine us as we adjust?
|
Can you imagine us
|
getting near eighty;
|
we live more sedately,
|
still hoping the dreams will come true?
|
We'll try to be secure.
|
|
But I'm of uncertain mind
|
and how can I be sure?
|
How can I be sure?
|
|
-----------------
|
Out Of My Book
|
| Van Der Graaf Generator |
