some angels were meant for flying,
well keep on trying,
to grow your wings,
and say those things worth dying for.
The air is getting cold,
my hands are getting old,
and sometimes the songs dont remind you,
of anything at all anything at all.
Maybe you should jump from that bridge,
but if you hit the ground you'll sink in,
maybe you should fly,
but if you do will you come see me again.
so we'll dance to the cursed hour
obsess about forgetting but never wondering
what will miss,
every guy wants a girl loving and considerate,
i want one i can hold to close to kiss.
maybe we should fly to rome, paris or naples,
in my time machine made of staples.
dont know what, what i'd do without your lovely face,
your warm embrace