Lyrics



{ -/+ }
Thirty years drunker than the under-table sleeper
nightly cigarettes and liquid anaesthesia
Broken glasses stained by nicotine fingers

Smokescreen dims the sunlight, Smokescreen numbs the twilight
Smokescreen curls the corner of the Martini label

Yellow fingernail taps the bottle, taps the softpack
Taps the slow euthanasia, self-prescribed
Yellow finger taps One, Two, Three, Four . . . Taps ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR

Just a couple more wasted breaths . . . no one shed a tear.
The sun will shine on for the rest.
No one need miss me when I'm gone.
The sun and all the brass will still go on.

The olive is as a sun bright to the blind
The olive is a pearl I'd drown to find
I will die bathing in the sun
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{ away }
Is she ready, can she tell?
Is that a broken dream, or a broken shell?
She lies alone, she [cries/dies] alone
but she is not her own

She slides away . . .

Is she waking? Always her dreams
drown the oceans in the sea.
Is it her world, is it her skies?
Always emptiness lost on empty eyes.

She slides away . . .

Is the view enough to die for?

She slides away . . .
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{ a fade }
I look into your eyes, you don't even see me
I reach for your hand, you don't even know I'm here
. . . and silently I scream hoping you might hear,
but you cannot even tell I'm fading tattered and torn.

Pleading with myself, trying to hide my pain;
I crush my once loved dreams and lock myself away.
Falling to my knees, crying at your feet
why can't you just see I'm fading tattered and torn?

Hiding in myself, coming out only for you
your life goes on just fine while mine revolves blindly around you
And when my life's derranged chaos you finally see
I'm fading tattered and torn, I'm dying tattered and worn

...too late.  I'm gone, tattered and torn.
...too late.  What's yours is tattered and worn.
Too late.  I die in your arms
Too late . . . why didn't you see?
Too late . . . why were you so blind?
Too late . . . why didn't you see . . . and rescue me?
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{ rough edges }
My child, I know the weather
has been not what it was supposed to be . . .
but, maybe it's all right.

The fire has gone out;
the snow is falling, it's cold.
Frost has taken the window . . .

there's nothing to see anyway.

Cold tears are collecting dust;
frozen and your hands, they must . . .

Beautifully, you're off somewhere, sleeping;
   your head has no shoulder.
Beautifully, you're off somewhere, sleeping;
   it's bound to grow colder.
Beautifully, you're off somewhere, sleeping;
   I must journey on, further.

Goodbye.
Goodbye.