Out of the darkness came wounded black water
it poured like a fountain for years as I solder
my heart back together like the letter she wrote
then placed on the edge of this dead like a note
playing over and over each string burries me
in an orchestra movement arranged carefully
and protected by saddness deletes memory...
It's written in poems and read to a lover
the stories mistaken and told as another
three hundred blank pages and each one's the same...
Then in the moonlight I left for a moment
alone in the driveway I sat in my torment
wished on a rain drop that fell in my hand
as I wrote on a postcard you don't understand
It's written in poems and read to a lover
the stories mistaken and told as another
three hundred blank pages and each one's the same
three hundred blank pages and each one's the same...