Undone Lyrics

	I mark the high days and the holidays
	red-letter on the page;
	fast-forward into memory,
	prepare to be upstaged.
	The envelopes I push against
	so rapidly become
	a wrap to keep me safe and warm
	but soon enough I'll be undone.
	And if, for instance, I had spent a lifetime
	in the service of cleanliness and godliness
	I'd still be washed up now.
	My history doesn't make much sense,
	no corner has been turned.
	The future's brooding and immense
	and everything I've learned
	seems tiny in the scheme of things,
	the reckoning's begun –
	I hold together what I can,
	the stitches bound to come undone.
	And, for example, if I'd spent a lifetime
	in pursuit of miraculously common sense
	I'd still feel stupid now.
	I'm waiting on a final clue,
	a final validation
	of what I did, of what I hid,
	of all I called my own.
	Our high days and our holidays
	are numbered, every one.
	So quick the hours rush away
	and everything we've left's undone.

	I mark the high days and the holidays
	redletter on the page
	fastforward into memory,
	prepare to be upstaged.
	The envelopes I push against
	so rapidly become
	a wrap to keep me safe and warm
	but soon enough I' ll be undone.
	And if, for instance, I had spent a lifetime
	in the service of cleanliness and godliness
	I' d still be washed up now.
	My history doesn' t make much sense,
	no corner has been turned.
	The future' s brooding and immense
	and everything I' ve learned
	seems tiny in the scheme of things,
	the reckoning' s begun
	I hold together what I can,
	the stitches bound to come undone.
	And, for example, if I' d spent a lifetime
	in pursuit of miraculously common sense
	I' d still feel stupid now.
	I' m waiting on a final clue,
	a final validation
	of what I did, of what I hid,
	of all I called my own.
	Our high days and our holidays
	are numbered, every one.
	So quick the hours rush away
	and everything we' ve left' s undone.

	I mark the high days and the holidays
	redletter on the page
	fastforward into memory,
	prepare to be upstaged.
	The envelopes I push against
	so rapidly become
	a wrap to keep me safe and warm
	but soon enough I' ll be undone.
	And if, for instance, I had spent a lifetime
	in the service of cleanliness and godliness
	I' d still be washed up now.
	My history doesn' t make much sense,
	no corner has been turned.
	The future' s brooding and immense
	and everything I' ve learned
	seems tiny in the scheme of things,
	the reckoning' s begun
	I hold together what I can,
	the stitches bound to come undone.
	And, for example, if I' d spent a lifetime
	in pursuit of miraculously common sense
	I' d still feel stupid now.
	I' m waiting on a final clue,
	a final validation
	of what I did, of what I hid,
	of all I called my own.
	Our high days and our holidays
	are numbered, every one.
	So quick the hours rush away
	and everything we' ve left' s undone.

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