Monday morning waking up
Still too numb to think
Another night just staring at the wall
Last night's conversation
Knocked me off my feet
I guess today I fall
I wish that we could find a way to look the other way
Be careful of the things we do and watch the things we say
And maybe then we'd get somewhere we've never been before
Oh what's the use of fighting when you know you've lost the war
Walk the streets of New Orleans
Shirt soaked to my skin
Through the mess of yesterday's parade
A thousand times a day I think of calling you again
Come to my senses instead
And everytime we walk away we lose a little time
Pretending to each other now that everything is fine
I know whatever lies I use to get myself to sleep
I wake up to the promises I know we couldn't keep
Say you don't see what's wrong
Every night lasts too long
So long I know, I do
You're already gone
Ooooh
I wonder should I get up
I would but what's the point?
Oh when something's gone it's gone for good
Maybe I could look away
Back to where we used to be
One more time, I wish I could
Oh, nevermind the reasons, that tore us all apart
We've both done things I know we can't defend
What's the use in tracing it all back to the star
There's something missing in the air
I wish that we could find a way to look the other way
Be careful of the things we do and everything we say
And maybe then we'd get somewhere we've never been before
Oh what's the use of fighting when you know you've lost the war
Say you don't see what's wrong
Every night lasts too long
So long I know, I do
You're already gone
Oh I know, I do
You're already gone
OooohIt's a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
The borders of our lives.
And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we've lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
And the dangled conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.
Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
"Can analysis be worthwhile?"
"Is the theater really dead?"
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.