The yellowed page of the books and books I'd forgotten that I had
|
These paperbacks they know their age they smell of weight and time that's resting warm
|
The opened box beside the endless box parade that haunts my house
|
Is fit to split with photographs that tell the wanderlust of years smashed on to years
|
|
When all this actual life played out
|
Where the hell on Earth was I?
|
I rack my brains but it won't come
|
|
Through water damaged bloodshot eyes
|
The fleeting triumphs, brazen lies
|
All seem to mingle into one
|
|
I read your name under words in your elegant hand you probably don't mean now
|
I fold the letter and think of a million and one things that I could have done different
|
|
When all this actual life played out
|
Where the hell on Earth was I?
|
I rack my brains but it won't come
|
|
Through water damaged bloodshot eyes
|
The fleeting triumphs, brazen lies
|
All seem to mingle into one
|
|
One gigantic fairy tale
|
Of friends I haven't seen in years
|
Drinking 'til the daylight hurts
|
|
You seem friendly who are you?
|
That's a lot of wine that we got through
|
We've made playtime look like work
|
|
Please just take these photos from my hands.
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|
-----------------
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Please Just Take These Photos From My Hands
|
| Snow Patrol |
