[ Today, skies are painted colors of a cowboy's cliché. You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes; it brought me back to life. I wanna go dancing darling, if you agree.
Dangerous, the way you leave me wanting more. But now it seems we're drowning in a drop of water. Is it something so good just can't function no more? Speak about a future in past tense. Blame infatuation, blame imagination.
I'm broken and I'm colder than hell. I'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03 and on your machine. I slur a plea for you to come home. But I know it's too late, and I should have given you a reason to stay. I'm tired of dancing on a pot of gold flake paint. All these things we were searching, now we just don't know. What have you done with my whole wide world?
'Cause I want the one I can't have, and it's driving me mad.
I've grown tired of holding this pose. I feel more like a stranger each time I come home. So I'm making a deal with the devils of faith, saying, let me walk away,
Please. ]
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