Old
There are two taps in the bathroom,
But the water's always cold
There are two beds in the bedroom
We must be getting old.
I'd cling to you for support
But I fear my touch would break you
So I turn on the torch
But the nightmare still remains
Little lights flash
On our ceiling
In our mind
Cold and lifeless
Left behind
We use all the proper titles
A credit to convention
And our faith is so cemented
Life is our detention
You turn up the radio
To drown the silence in our minds
We've exhausted reason
Now we only speak in rhymes
Little lights flash
On our ceiling
In our mind
Cold and lifeless
Left behind
We've got so many memories
But they don't seem like our own
We've got so many cemeteries,
Filled with the friends we've known
We can't spare fluid to cry
But there's great sadness in our eyes
We think of all the times
That we'd trade for last goodbyes
Little lights flash
On our ceiling
In our mind
Cold and lifeless
Never mind