What if all the talks, the things he said,
all of it stayed bottled in his heart?
And I thought "Bottling his heartache? I'll fix that."
If he wants me, we can make a start.
And my sad little heart fell closer...
And a few words. He needed time.
He was a man, etcetera... Must be Hell of a different kind.
And, oh, the unholy wind is blind,
blows us winter through the street.
And time that keeps no trace of us
still feels lik a song so sweet, like a song so sweet.
The heart is a holy painter.
It fills in what our thoughts create.
A likeness of the devil, or an angel who's come to stay.
And the distance said now you are older,
in the hush of the dark you know.
Surely you have been touched this time,
there's no way to let him go.
And, oh, the unholy wind is blind,
blows us winter through the streets.
And time keeps no trace of us,
still feels like a song so sweet, like a sng so sweet.
And the Moon is a haunted woman,
with the look of a vacant dream.
And she says "Don't, don't you lose him, don't you lose him,
He's the soul of yur everything"
And, o-oh, the unholy wind is blind.
Holy whispers through the street.
And time that keeps no trace of us
still feels like a song so sweet, like a song so sweet.
Hummmm....
