I woke twice last night, walked to the window
|
Looked down at the gravestones guarding St Patricks in the snow
|
And I thought if that’s where it all ends
|
I should get home again with you
|
|
When fondness makes the heart grow absent
|
I gotta find an orbit a little closer to the ground
|
When fondness in my heart is absent
|
I’m in awe of the sabotage within
|
|
In the morning the cliffs of fear still rising from my sleep
|
A note from the demons is lying accusing at my feet
|
The parks are empty and the tea’s gone cold
|
I could slip so easily from the earth’s hold
|
The life has been lived and the story sold
|
|
When fondness makes the heart grow absent
|
I gotta find an orbit a little closer to the ground
|
When fondness in my heart is absent
|
I’m in awe of the sabotage within
|
|
Black ice is creeping over the pavement
|
An overcoat slips to the ground like the Angel of Death
|
Is playing on Prince Street
|
They’re falling and not making a sound
|
|
When fondness makes the heart grow absent
|
I gotta find an orbit a little closer to the ground
|
When fondness in my heart is absent
|
I’m in awe of the sabotage within
|
|
When fondness makes the heart grow absent
|
I gotta find an orbit a little closer to the ground
|
When fondness in my heart is absent
|
I’m in awe of the sabotage within
|
|
To this evening and what a pleasure
|
Here in Balthazar’s red leather
|
A little private toast and a vow to die
|
A natural death in my own good time
|
|
-----------------
|
Fondness Makes The Heart Grow Absent
|
| The Whitlams |
