there's no combination of words i could put on the back of a postcard, no song that i could sing but i can try for your heart, our dreams, and they are made out of real things like a shoebox of photographs with sepia tone loving.
won't you come down to my arms, there's something i'm ready to say, would you call my name? look at where we are, remember where we started out, never gonna be without each others love again. look at where we are, are, are, i need your name.
all i have, i will give to you, and at times when no one wants to, i will give you me and we'll be us and there's no one else, that knows me like you do, what i've done, you've done too, the walls i hide behind, you walk through, you just walk through.
then you give me one, another you just finished, you're my library, always open for business. you never show it, you're just sitting with it, but I know the score, and you're killin it, line after line, when you're taking it in, time after time, when you try to fit in to some white shoes or a blue collar.