|
The months go by |
|
I don't think of you |
|
The signal is frail |
|
An imprint of what you do |
|
So I turn up the sound |
|
And you are nowhere |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
But I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
The scent goes by |
|
Still I smell of you |
|
You say I cry |
|
At the merest thought of you |
|
So you let me down |
|
To laugh at nothing |
|
I have learnt this for myself |
|
But I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
So I turn down the sound |
|
And you are nowhere |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
But I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
So turn down the sound |
|
You are nowhere |
|
You let me down |
|
To laugh at nothing |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
I have learnt this for myself |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
I have learnt this for myself |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
I have learnt this for myself |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
I have learnt this for myself |
