Forty thousand birds are singing out good morning
|
but I barely hear the song.
|
While you're sound asleep on another frequency
|
I put my finger on what's wrong.
|
From here on out
|
it just gets hard,
|
and then more complicated.
|
It's not about the love we made,
|
it's more about the days ahead
|
and then the days ahead of them,
|
the nagging doubt
|
that maybe you were my mistake.
|
|
I recall the time you posed in the museum
|
like some ancient work of art.
|
Then there was last night, how do you explain it -
|
it's just the language of the heart.
|
From here on out
|
it just gets weird,
|
and then we both get quiet.
|
It's not about the old times sake,
|
it's more about the days ahead
|
and then the days ahead of them,
|
the nagging doubt
|
that maybe you were my mistake.
|
|
-----------------
|
My Mistake
|
| Swan Dive |
