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When we wake in the morning we will take the bus and go down to the city from the house on top of this manmade mountain, this hollow hill |
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From the mountain and down to the city where everything stands still |
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Two little hands grabbing for two big ones |
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Leading a safe way through the noise and alarm and the cars and the boats and fumes in my nose and the city is pulling the blood out of me |
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'Cause I never really had you |
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So we go down in the tunnel and up on the other side |
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The leaf and the face and the laughing seagulls |
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And I don't want to let you go, I don't want to let you go but soon I will have to 'cause we're almost there |
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Just a few more blocks |
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Then this good thing stops |
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And I'll wave you off |
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'Cause I never really had you |
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And it's easy to see when you're safe in a distance |
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It's easy to speak when you can't feel anything |
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And somebody's got to take the blame, and I blame myself every single day |
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For having you and losing you |
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But all this time, you were always on my mind |
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And the city is big, much too big, and the weekend is short, much too short |
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I wanted to show you everything, but the distance is fucking it up |
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The weekend has come to a stop |
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Our 48 hours are up |
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Look at the millionaire taking a limo, slipping a 500 bill to the doorman |
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American fuckup, you should give it to me |
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I would spend it better |
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I would do something pretty |
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I would buy some time, just an hour or two and let the kids take a later train home instead, but everything around rushing through my head, rushing through my head |
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'Cause I never really had you |
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So I go out from the station and back to the hill |
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Into the apartment |
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Am I breathing still? |
