Sitting alone in the dark of a stadium
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He whispers his secrets into a cheap guitar
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With the flick of his wrist he turns words into melodies
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Chords into church bells, fill up the allies
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Lovers intwine in the heat of the night
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And by dawn are apart in the shivering silences
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We will pretend
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That its all just made up
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The songs that he writes
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Are too personal
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He cant play them for anyone
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When hes all alone, the lovesong writer sings
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Ooooh
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Can anyone, hear me now?
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No one hears him now
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So he stumbles through syllables, cut from their sentences
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Lost letters call to him, deep in the alphabet
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"Please give us meaning"
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Pose for me now
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You're the broken heart
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You're the sigh in the back of the throat
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And on the other side
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You're the queen of spades
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You're the sound that she makes on her way
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Theres always a way out
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Theres always a way out
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When hes all alone, the lovesong writer sings
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Ooooh
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Can anyone, hear me now?
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But no one hears at all
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The lovesong writer sits all alone
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When he hears the sound of the knock at the door
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50 red roses, falling apart
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In the hands of someone that you scraped in and left behind
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All of the others strolled up and showed up at your door
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Staring you down, they said:
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Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now
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Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now
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We already are
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-----------------
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The Lovesong Writer
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| Thursday |
